tihvary  of  €he  t:heolo;gical  ^^minavy 

PRINCETON  •  NEW  JERSEY 


•a^D* 


PRESENTED  BY 

The  Efit^.te   of   the 
Rev>   John  B,   Wieclinp:er 

BV  1085  .W4  B4  1912 
Begbie,  Harold,  1871-1929 
The  ordinary  man  and  the 
extraordinary  thing 


THE   ORDINARY    MAN 

AND 

THE   EXTRAORDINARY   THING 


The    Ordinary 

and  the 

Extraordinary  Thing 


By 

HAROLD  ^EGBIE 

AUTHOR   OF  "SOULS  IN   ACTION,"  "OTHER   SHEEP," 
"TWICE   BORN  MEN,"  &C. 


HODDER  &  STOUGHTON 

NEW  YORK 

GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


,  ,  ,  the  pressure  of  the  soul  Tias  increased  among  manTevnd^  ,  ,  ,  Ut 
mysterious  influence  is  diffiosing  itself  among  the  people. 

It  is  well  that  men  should  he  reminded  that  the  very  humblest  of  them 
has  the  power  to  '  'fashion,  after  a  divine  model  that  he  chooses  not,  a 
great  moral  personality,  composed  in  equal  parts  of  himself  and  the 
ideal;  and  that  if  anything  lives  in  fullest  reality,  of  a  surety  it  is 
that." 

If  you  knew  that  you  were  going  to  die  to-night,  or  merely  that  you 
would  have  to  go  away  and  never  return,  would  you,  looking  upon  m^n 
and  things  for  the  last  time,  see  them  in  the  same  light  that  you  hav« 
hitherto  seen  them  ?  Would  you  not  love  as  you  have  never  yet  loved  f 
Is  it  the  virtue  or  the  evil  of  the  appearances  around  you  that  would  be 
magnified  ?  Would  it  be  given  you  to  behold  the  beauty  or  the  ugliness 
of  the  soul  ? 

.  .  .  of  so  many  in  this  world  does  the  aim,  seem  to  be  the  discourage- 
ment of  the  divine  in  their  soul. 

May  it  not  be  the  supreme  aim  of  life  .  .  .  to  bring  to  birth  the 
inexplicable  toithin  ourselves ;  and  do  we  know  how  much  we  add  to 
ourselves  when  we  awake  something  of  the  incomprehensible  that 
slumbers  in  every  comer  t 

,  .  ,  the  soul  is  like  a  dreamer,  enthralled  by  sleep,  who  struggles 
with  all  his  might  to  move  an  arm  or  raise  an  eyelid. 

We  must  be  heedful;  it  is  not  without  fi  reason  that  our  soul 
bestirs  itself, 

Mattricb  Maeterlinck. 

{Translated  by  Alfred  Sutro.) 


TO 

MY   FRIEND 

PERCY  L.  PARKER 

EDITOR  OF  THE   INDISPENSABLE   REVIEW 
"PUBLIC   opinion" 


PREFACE 

IN  this  book  the  endeavour  is  made  to  bring  home 
to  the  minds  of  men  one  of  those  great  and 
central  truths  of  life  which  are  so  often  ignored  in 
the  pressure  of  surface  existence.  This  particular 
truth  may  be  expressed  in  various  ways  : 

The  veritable  life  of  a  man  is  lived,  not  visibly 
and  externally,  but  in  the  impenetrable  soHtude 
of  his  soul. 

Profound  and  extraordinary  changes  of  soul 
are  experienced  by  the  most  ordinary  of  men. 

Conversion  is  nob  generally  a  sudden  and 
catastrophic  experience,  but  for  most  men  a 
gradual  and  imperceptible  process  of  development. 

Without  religion,  the  moral  and  physical  pro- 
gress of  those  great  masses  of  humanity  who 
carry  the  fortunes  of  civiUsation  can  never  be 
assured. 

The  narratives  which  form  the  main  body  of  this 
book  are  true  stories  of  the  hves  of  men ;  and  they 
witness,  in  the  midst  of  all  their  differences  and  all 
the  variety  of  their  circumstances,  to  the  truth  of 
Maeterhnck's  assertion  that  in  this  present  time 
"  the  pressure  of  the  soul  has  increased  among 
mankind." 

A  2 


X  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

An  unknown  correspondent,  the  librarian  of  a 
university  in  America,  writing  to  me  about  Broken 
Earthenware  and  In  the  Hands  of  the  Potter,  asked 
me  some  months  ago  to  write  a  book  dealing  with 
"  the  conversions  of  ordinary  people,  respectable 
men  and  women,  who  do  not  indulge  in  drunkenness, 
or  theft,  or  lying,  or  gross  immorality."  He  went 
on  to  say,  "  Because  of  the  conditions  that  surround 
them,  many  people  know  only  those  who  belong 
to  the  respectable  classes,  and  I  am  sure  that  many 
of  your  readers,  of  whom  I  am  one,  would  welcome 
a  work  narrating  the  reHgious  experiences  of  our 
brethren  who  belong  neither  to  the  '  submerged 
tenth  '  nor  to  the  '  four  hundred.'  " 

Of  course,  the  supreme  test  of  rehgion  is  its  in- 
fluence upon  the  central  host  of  humanity.  If 
education  and  refinement  can  safeguard  civihsation, 
and  if  the  bulk  of  mankind  can  advance  in  virtue 
and  righteousness  without  religion,  such  conversions 
as  are  narrated  in  Broken  Earthenware  might  well 
become  merely  curious  and  interesting  problems  in 
psychology. 

The  investigations  which  form  the  body  of  this 
book  represent  an  attempt  to  get  at  the  heart 
of  the  ordinary  man,  to  penetrate  to  that  inner 
consciousness  which  is  the  true  Hfe  of  the  individual, 
to  reach  and  explore  those  recesses  of  the  soul  where 
decisions  are  made  in  secret  and  character  is  formed 
in  silence — an  attempt  to  understand  the  com- 
mimion  which  exists  between  the  man  in  the  street 
and  the  God  in  his  soul.  The  result  of  these  investi- 
gations has  been  the  conviction  that  now,  as  ever, 
the  heart  of  representative  man  is  in  search  of  God. 


PREFACE  xi 

The  character  of  the  search  has  changed,  the  vast  ad- 
venture of  Hfe  is  tangled  with  a  hundred  complexi- 
ties, it  is  not  now  so  easy  to  believe,  or  to  believe  in 
the  manner  of  our  ancestors  ;  for,  as  Joubert  says, 
it  is  more  difficult  to  be  a  modern  than  an  ancient  ; 
but,  nevertheless,  fundamental  to  our  complex 
civihsation  is  the  quest  of  the  human  heart  for 
that  everlasting  rest,  security,  and  peace  which 
only  faith  in  a  good  and  compassionate  Creator  can 
bestow.  The  stories  which  compose  the  pages  of 
this  book,  not  only  witness  to  the  truth  of  this 
proposition,  but  prove  that  civilisation  is  not  safe 
without  religion,  that  society  cannot  organise  itself 
without  God. 

The  reader  of  this  book  will  find  himself  walking 
in  the  main  streets  of  civilisation,  along  the  most 
crowded  high  roads  of  human  progress  ;  not,  as 
in  Broken  Earthenware,  threading  narrow  and 
mephitic  alleys,  standing  with  awe  and  disgust 
in  his  soul  before  the  dark  entries  and  filthy  door- 
ways of  back  streets,  where  civilisation  has  made  its 
dust  heap.  He  will  discover,  however,  that  in  the 
main  streets  of  modem  Hfe  there  are  strange  and 
almost  imbeUevable  reaHties  hidden  behind  the 
respectable  walls.  He  will  be  amazed,  I  think, 
by  the  romance  and  mystery  which  exist  in  the 
commonplace.  And  I  do  not  think  it  will  be  possible 
for  him,  if  he  is  an  honest  man,  to  doubt  that  rehgion 
is  essential  to  the  progress  of  the  human  race — more 
essential  to  the  central  host  of  humanity  than  to  the 
poor  broken  and  unhappy  wretches  who  creep 
through  Hfe  in  the  shadows  and  the  deprivations  of 
the  back  streets  of  civilisation. 


xii  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

I  must  make  the  confession  that  it  has  been  more 
difficult  for  me  to  write  this  book  than  to  write 
Broken  Earthenware.  I  went  for  my  materials  to 
a  wonderful  Brotherhood  which  has  overspread  the 
world,  which  has  made  itself  one  of  the  great 
safeguards  of  civilisation,  and  which  is  composed  of 
respectable  men  representative  of  humanity's  central 
host.  But  the  ordinary  man  does  not  easily  discuss 
the  inward  mystery  of  his  life.  Even  where  his 
confidence  is  won,  and  even  where  he  is  anxious  for 
the  sake  of  others  to  tell  the  story  of  his  Hfe,  even 
here,  in  spite  of  his  education  and  knowledge  of  the 
world,  he  is  far  less  able  to  express  himself  than  the 
humble  man  who  has  been  broken  on  the  wheel  of 
life.  It  is  not  so  much  that  he  shrinks  from  speaking 
of  his  spiritual  experiences,  as  that  his  very  effort 
to  be  intellectual  and  intelligent  in  his  account  of 
the  miracle  renders  him  obscure  and  sometimes 
unconvincing.  He  has  none  of  that  elemental 
reality,  none  of  that  fervour  of  a  great  gratitude, 
which  makes  the  humbler  man  who  has  suffered 
tremendously,  so  movingly  eloquent,  so  entirely 
convincing,  so  splendidly  real. 

A  certain  critic  of  my  books,  writing  in  a  Roman 
CathoHc  review,  admitted  the  wonder  of  these 
documents  of  conversion,  but  averred  that  the 
reading  of  them  made  him  shudder.  It  is  as  if, 
he  said,  a  reporter  were  present  taking  notes  at  our 
'private  devotions.  Hypersensitive  people  may 
applaud  this  sentiment,  and  may  even  reUsh  the 
sneer  which  it  conveys  ;  but  a  mind  of  more  robust 
force  wiU  perceive  its  dreadful  immodesty.  For 
someone  "  reported  "  the  Agony  in  G^thsemane ; 


PREFACE  xiii 

and  if  the  private  prayer  of  the  Son  of  God  may  be 
given  to  the  world,  our  little  sorrows,  our  little 
agonies,  our  little  experiences  of  God's  mercy  and 
forgiveness,  if  they  can  help  mankind,  may  surely 
be  given  freely  to  those  who  are  still  comfortless. 
Are  we  really  to  suppose  that  God  is  whispering 
into  our  ears  a  confidence  which  is  only  for  us  ? — 
that  anything  which  happens  to  us  is  meant  to  be 
hoarded  in  the  secrecy  of  our  souls  as  a  private 
benefaction  ? — that  we  are  the  favourites  of  heaven 
called  apart  into  an  empty  room  to  receive  gifts 
and  treasures  which  must  be  hidden  from  our 
brothers  and  sisters  ? 

The  real  truth  of  this  matter  has  been  declared 
by  Christ  Himself  : 

"  Simon,  I  have  somewhat  to  say  unto  thee. 

"  And  he  saith,  Master,  say  on. 

**  There  was  a  certain  creditor  which  had  two 
debtors  :  the  one  owed  five  hundred  pence,  and 
the  other  fifty.  And  when  they  had  nothing 
to  pay,  he  frankly  forgave  them  both.  Tell  me 
therefore,  which  of  them  will  love  him  most  ? 

"  Simon  answered  and  said,  I  suppose  that  he, 
to  whom  he  forgave  most. 

"  And  he  said  unto  him,  Thou  hast  rightly 
judged." 

The  ordinary  man,  I  think,  and  particularly  the 
ordinary  man  of  the  rehgious  world,  does  not  yet 
imderstand  the  meaning  of  that  strange  word,  Joy 
shall  be  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth,  more 
than  over  ninety  and  nine  just  persons  which  need  no 
repentance.    He  does  not  reaHse  why  it  was   that 


xiv  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

Christ  sought  sinners,  was  happier  in  the  company  of 
sinners  than  in  the  company  of  Scribes  and  Phari- 
sees, was  actually  the  Friend  of  Sinners.  He  is  still 
entangled  in  the  meshes  of  dogmatic  theology.  He 
does  not  perceive  that  the  hunger  of  heaven  is  for  the 
love  of  the  human  heart,  for  the  overflowing,  grate- 
ful, and  self -forgetting  passionate  love  of  humanity  ; 
not  for  a  credo,  not  for  the  repetition  of  formal 
prayers,  not  for  faithful  loyalty  to  a  piece  of  eccle- 
siastical machinery.  Love  is  the  secret  of  Christ. 
And  it  is  because  to  whom  little  is  forgiven,  the  same 
loveth  little,  that  the  gaze  of  Christ  is  turned  more 
tenderly  towards  the  sinner  and  the  outcast  than 
towards  the  respectable  and  the  religious. 

Pascal,  writing  of  the  prophecies  mentioned  in  the 
New  Testament,  exclaims :  "  You  believe  that 
they  are  reported  to  make  you  believe.  No,  it  is  to 
keep  you  from  believing."  This  quite  devilish  idea 
of  a  kind  of  hide-and-seek  between  God  and  man 
still  exists  under  various  forms  among  religious 
people.  They  dress  it  up  in  a  less  revolting  shape 
than  the  honesty  of  Pascal  permitted  him  to  employ  ; 
but  in  reaUty  it  is  the  same  black,  sinister,  and  un- 
Christly  spectre  masquerading  as  the  true  religion 

The  devil  can  cite  Scripture  for  his  purpose, 

An  evil  soul,  producing  holy  witness, 

Is  like  a  villain  with  a  smiling  cheek ; 

A  goodly  apple,  rotten  at  the  heart ; 

0,  what  a  goodly  outside  falsehood  hath  1 

And  the  truth  is  so  simple,  is  so  palpable,  is  so 
persuasive  and  reasonable.  A  merciful  God,  a 
heavenly  Father,  asks  of  His  creatures  the  love  of 
their  hearts,  asks  for  that  love,  not  because  it  is 


PREFACE  XV 

necessary  to  Him,  but  because  it  is  essential  to  their 
own  welfare,  is  the  one  power  by  which  they  can 
come  to  harmony  with  the  universe,  the  one  means 
by  which  they  can  grow  in  the  hkeness  of  their 
Creator,  and  inherit  the  joys  prepared  for  them 
before  the  foundation  of  the  world.  Love  is  the 
secret,  love  is  the  way,  and  love  is  the  truth.  Her 
sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven  ;  for  she  loved 
much  :  but  to  whom  little  is  forgiven,  the  same  loveth 
little.  The  conversion  of  a  respectable  man  can  be 
as  wonderful  and  beautiful  a  thing  as  the  conversion 
of  a  great  sinner  ;  but  it  is  seldom  that  the  result 
of  that  conversion  utters  itself  in  an  uprush  of  burn- 
ing and  torrential  love  which  bursts  the  flood-gates 
of  self-repression,  and  flows  over  the  whole  brother- 
hood of  man  in  a  tide  of  self-forgetting  care  and 
compassion. 

But  difficult  as  it  has  been  to  write  this  book — 
and  I  have  made  no  effort  to  exaggerate  the  miracle 
or  to  embroider  its  consequences — I  venture  to 
think  that  it  shows  in  a  very  useful  manner  one 
particular  aspect  of  conversion  which  is  almost 
entirely  neglected  by  students  of  psychology. 
One  of  my  correspondents,  an  English  engineer 
living  in  Burmah,  assures  me  that  conversion  is 
a  matter  of  "  cortical  susceptibiHty,"  and  many 
others  seem  to  share  the  delusion  common  to  materi- 
alists that  conversion  is  always  the  result  of  some 
form  of  emotional  excitement.  This  idea  is  entirely 
fooUsh.  It  Hmits  its  painful  diagnosis  to  the  single 
moment  of  conversion,  and  conveniently  ignores 
the  long  after-Hfe  of  virtue,  self-sacrifice,  and  new- 
born holiness.     It  explains,   or  imagines   that  it 


xvi  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

explains,  how  a  man  loses  the  evil  habits  of  a  life- 
time in  the  shock  of  a  nervous  excitement ;  but  it 
does  not  explain,  does  not  attempt  to  explain, 
how  it  is  that  long  after  the  excitement  has  worn 
away,  that  life  continues  in  its  new  path,  calm, 
tranquil,  and  pure  with  the  love  of  God. 

And  these  critics  with  their  "  cortical  suscepti- 
bilities "  and  "  explosions  of  nervous  energy," 
limit  their  investigations  of  conversion  to  those 
examples  of  the  miracle  which  become  public 
property  through  the  chronicles  of  revivaHsm.  It 
is  now  a  vulgar  idea  that  conversions  only  foUow 
upon  the  energies  and  often  the  hysterical  absurdities 
of  professional  revivalists.  It  would  be  fatal  to 
religion  if  such  were  the  case.  No  one,  I  think, 
could  more  detest  the  professional  revivahst  than 
myself,  and  than  myself  no  one  could  more  entirely 
doubt  the  lasting  effect  of  the  majority  of  conver- 
sions accompHshed  by  this  means.  I  can  see  the  need 
for  revivalism,  and  I  can  see  in  the  future  a  develop- 
ment of  revivaHsm  which  will  be  of  noble  service 
to  humanity  ;  but  I  disHke  the  un-Christly  character 
of  these  worked-up  excitements,  and  I  am  utterly 
uninterested  by  their  results. 

Conversion,  real  conversion,  however — as  I  showed 
even  in  Broken  Earthenware — is  almost  always  the 
effect  of  individual  loving-kindness,  of  personal 
and  quiet  love,  of  intercourse  between  a  happy  and 
an  unhappy  soul  in  the  normal  colloquies  of  friend- 
ship, of  passionate  seeking  of  the  lost  by  those 
whose  lives  are  inspired  by  unselfish  love.  It  may 
possibly  have  its  culminating  point  in  a  pubhc 
meeting ;    the   act   of   standing   up   and   pubhcly 


PREFACE  xvii 

declaring  for  righteousness  may  have  tremendous 
effect ;  but  even  in  such  cases,  such  rare  cases, 
the  preparation  has  usually  been  long  and  difficult, 
secret  and  gradual.  And  now  in  this  book  I  show 
that  conversion  is  a  quite  common  experience 
among  ordinary  men,  is  very  often  nothing  more 
than  a  secret  turning  of  the  face  towards  God,  a 
private  decision  to  live  a  new  life,  a  personal  and 
wholly  tranquil  choice  of  the  soul  for  Christ  as  its 
Master  and  Saviour.  No  priest  appears  to  be 
necessary,  the  excitements  of  the  revivalist  preacher 
are  absent ;  in  the  privacy  of  its  own  soul,  the  spirit 
turns  from  evil  and  faces  towards  good. 

It  is  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  make  this 
truth  of  conversion  more  widely  known.  No  occa- 
sion should  be  lost  to  teach  the  ordinary  man  that 
this  central  fact  of  religious  experience  is  not  the 
property  of  the  revivaUst.  The  truest  case  of  normal 
conversion,  the  conversion  of  the  ordinary  man, 
is  that  told  in  the  parable  of  the  prodigal  son. 
There  was  no  one  present  when  he  came  to  himself 
in  a  far  country;  and  when  he  said,  "I  will  arise 
and  go  to  my  father,"  he  was  neither  the  victim 
of  mental  excitement  nor  the  hypnotised  hysteric 
of  a  religious  meeting.  When  he  turned  he  was 
converted.  And  when  he  was  yet  a  great  way 
off  his  father  saw  him — only  his  father — and  ran, 
and  fell  on  his  neck,  and  kissed  him. 

Such  conversions  are  common.  Christianity 
recruits  its  ranks  from  them. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Foreword       ,  ,  ,  ,  «       .       i 

CHAPTER  I 
A  Man  and  His  Work  .  ■  •       •       9 

CHAPTER  II 
The  Work      ,  .  .  •  •       •      3© 

CHAPTER  III 
A  Decent  Man  .  .  •  •       .      58 

CHAPTER   IV 
The  Accidents  of  Life  .  ,  •       •     7Z 

CHAPTER  V 
A  Bad  Hat    .  •  .  •  •       •     92 

CHAPTER  VI 
The  Professional  Amateur     .  •  •       •    iii 


XX  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

CHAPTER  VII 
A  Soul  in  the  Street  .  ,  ,       .    127 

CHAPTER  VIII 
The  Opening  of  a  Door  .  •  •       .    147 

CHAPTER  IX 
Master  and  Man        .  .  •  •       .    162 

CHAPTER  X 
An  Original  Character  .  •  •       .    184 

CHAPTER  XI 
A  Little  Publican      .  .  .  ,       ,    201 

CHAPTER  XII 
The  Big  Scale  .  .  •  •       .    218 

CHAPTER  XIII 
Rank  and  File  •  •  •  •       .    234 


FOREWORD 


WHEN  a  newspaper  boy  runs  through  the 
streets  with  the  cry  of  "  Horrible  tragedy  !  " 
he  is  exalted  by  something  more  than  the  certainty 
of  good  fortune.  Regard  his  excited  eyes,  the 
strain  of  the  muscles  round  his  mouth,  the  effort 
of  the  body  to  hurl  itself  ahead  of  the  hurrying 
legs,  the  obvious  awe  and  self-importance  of  a 
spirit  charged  with  evil  tidings.  He  knows  nothing 
of  the  news  except  its  headline.  Unconscious  that 
he  himself  is  horrible  tragedy,  he  runs  in  his  foul 
rags  through  the  mud  of  the  gutters  thrilled  by  the 
mere  announcement  of  horror.  .  .  .  Tragedy  has 
occurred,  and,  the  gods  be  thanked,  horrible  tragedy. 
He  bawls  the  adjective  with  an  almost  overpowering 
sincerity,  lopping  with  the  shears  of  his  trembling 
lips  the  mild,  inoffensive,  and  emasculating  *'H." 
Thus  does  he  make  tragedy  more  than  tragedy, 
and  horrible  tragedy  a  thing  of  awe  to  which  the 
mere  printed  letters  of  these  two  words  afford 
nothing  like  so  gruesome  an  index.  His  sudden  cry 
breaking  with  hoarse  and  terrifying  menace  on  the 
winter  darkness  of  suburban  roads,  shattering  the 
decorum  of  tea-parties  and  bursting  lilie  a  storm 
upon  the  fireside  calm  of  uneventful  domesticity, 


2  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

is  like  the  trumpet  of  death.  It  brings  the  invisible 
world  about  the  head  of  those  trivial  common- 
places. The  clangorous  wings  of  calamity  smite 
that  villa  comfort  in  the  face.  And  the  terror  is 
welcomed  ;  the  doors  are  thro^vn  open  to  receive 
the  horror.     It  is  something  to  talk  about. 

Humanity,  clearly,  is  still  in  the  barbarous  stage 
where  the  drama  of  life  without  action,  violent 
action,  is  reckoned  dull  and  tedious.  The  multitude 
must  have  murders,  suicides,  divorces,  and  political 
crises  in  their  newspapers  ;  a  novel  which  describes 
the  religious  evolution  of  a  soul  is  relegated  some- 
times even  by  judicious  critics  to  the  ponderous 
shelf  of  theology  ;  a  play  which  does  not  excite  the 
crude  passions  is  pronounced  a  tiresome  excursion 
in  psychology  ;  even  sermons  to  be  popular  must 
flash  with  a  Httle  lightning  and  reverberate  with  a 
morsel  of  thunder. 

It  is  difficult  for  men  to  realise  that  the  only 
veritable  life  is  the  life  of  the  inward  sanctuary, 
the  life  of  silence  and  communion  with  invisible 
and  everlasting  truth.  Like  children,  they  want 
something  to  happen.  Like  children,  they  do  not 
want  to  feel,  but  to  be  made  to  feel.  They  are 
perhaps  afraid  of  the  solitude  of  their  con- 
science. 

"  I  admire  Othello,"  says  Maeterlinck,  "  but  he 
does  not  appear  to  me  to  live  the  august  life  of  a 
Hamlet,  who  has  the  time  to  live,  inasmuch  as  he 
does  not  act.  OtheUo  is  admirably  jealous.  But 
is  it  not  perhaps  an  ancient  error  to  imagine  that 
it  is  at  the  moments  when  this  passion,  or  others  of 
equal  violence,  possess  us,  that  we  live  our  truest 


FOREWORD  3 

lives  ?  "      And    then    follows    the    profound    and 
beautiful  passage : — 

"  I  have  grown  to  believe  that  an  old  man, 
seated  in  his  arm-chair,  waiting  patiently,  with  his 
lamp  beside  him  ;  giving  unconscious  ear  to  all 
the  eternal  laws  that  reign  about  his  house,  inter- 
preting, without  comprehending,  the  silence  of 
doors  and  windows  and  the  quivering  voice  of  the 
light,  submitting  with  bent  head  to  the  presence 
of  his  soul  and  his  destiny — an  old  man,  who 
conceives  not  that  all  the  powers  of  this  world, 
like  so  many  heedful  servants,  are  mingling  and 
keeping  vigil  in  his  room,  who  suspects  not  that 
the  very  sun  itself  is  supporting  in  space  the  little 
table  against  which  he  leans,  or  that  every  star 
in  heaven  and  every  fibre  of  the  soul  are  directly 
concerned  in  the  movement  of  an  eyehd  that 
closes,  or  a  thought  that  springs  to  birth — I  have 
grown  to  believe  that  he,  motionless  as  he  is, 
does  yet  live  in  reality  a  deeper,  more  human,  and 
more  universal  life  than  the  lover  who  strangles 
his  mistress,  the  captain  who  conquers  in  battle, 
or  '  the  husband  who  avenges  his  honour.' "  ^ 


II 

The  trouble  about  this  universal  love  of  horror 
and  calamity  and  violent  action  lies  in  its  influence 
upon  the  journalist  from  whom  so  many  people  take 
their    ideas    of    Ufe.      Because    Murder    multiplies 

^  The  Treasure  of  the  Humble.  Translated  by  Alfred  Sutio. 
(George  Allen  &  Sons.) 


4  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

editions  and  Divorce  or  Crisis  sends  up  the  sales 
to  a  zenith  of  prosperity,  it  is  conceived  that  all  bad 
news  is  profitable  and  all  good  news  is  dull.  And 
from  this  reasoning  proceed  the  pessimism,  the 
cynicism,  the  hysteria,  and  even  the  despair  which 
characterise  the  modern  newspaper.  If  one's 
knowledge  of  hfe  were  obtained  only  from  the 
newspaper,  who  would  not  conclude  that  mankind 
is  now  staggering  at  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  with 
ruin  darkening  over  its  head,  and  perdition  yawning 
at  its  feet?  Such  a  word  as  "Unrest"  is  seized 
hungrily  and  repeated  so  apprehensively  that  it 
comes  to  mean,  not  an  awakening  of  the  human  soul, 
not  an  uprising  of  dim  multitudes  from  mental  tor- 
por to  spiritual  consciousness,  but  a  menace  to 
civilisation  and  a  portent  of  cataclysm.  Such  a 
phrase  as  "  The  Cost  of  Living  "  is  noisily  bruited 
till  it  quite  obscures  the  simple,  silent  fact  that 
never  hitherto  in  the  history  of  organised  mankind 
have  the  necessities  of  life  been  cheaper  or  the 
luxuries  of  life  so  universally  shared  by  society. 
And,  worse  stiU,  all  that  is  dark,  tragic,  discouraging, 
and  perilous  in  modern  life  is  so  harped  upon,  so 
underhned,  emphasised,  and  reiterated  that  the 
immense  energy  of  religious  activity  and  the 
splendid  impulse  of  social  service,  which  are  every- 
where carrying  humanity  forward  to  the  fuUer  glory 
of  its  destiny,  are  smothered  and  obliterated  out  of 
knowledge. 

Truly  might  one  conclude  from  the  newspaper 
that  righteousness  stands  paralysed  before  the 
advancing  frontiers  of  hell,  and  that  love  lies 
bleeding  at  the  feet  of  Satan, 


FOREWORD 


III 


Now,  as  everyone  desires  to  have  beautiful  sur- 
roundings, and  chooses  furniture,  pictures,  and  wall- 
papers for  their  charm  and  graciousness  ;  and  as 
friends  are  sought  among  the  best  and  sweetest  of 
humanity,  not  among  the  most  terrible  and  re- 
pulsive— should  we  not  seek  for  the  furniture  of  our 
minds,  and  the  companions  of  our  souls,  thoughts 
that  are  beautiful  and  encouraging,  knowledge  that 
is  strengthening  and  uplifting  ?  Should  we  not 
resolutely  turn  our  backs  upon  all  that  is  morbid, 
gruesome,  violent,  and  hysterical,  and  keep  our 
face  steadfastly  and  cheerfully  towards  the  calm 
light  of  hope  which  burns  upon  the  forward  way  of 
human  progress  ?  For  if  we  do  not  decorate  our 
walls  with  pictures  of  murder  and  treasonable  lust, 
and  ask  to  our  table  the  criminal  financier,  the 
hangman,  the  screaming  journalist,  and  the  brazen 
woman  of  fashion,  why  should  we  care  to  read  about 
sordid  and  disgusting  things  in  the  newspaper,  or 
occupy  our  minds  with  the  vulgarities  of  second- 
rate  people  and  the  never-ending  crises  of  sen- 
sationalism ? 

Infamy  has  its  tens,  evil  its  hundreds,  and 
vulgarity  its  thousands  ;  but  the  central  host  of 
humanity,  the  grand  army  of  mankind,  which  is 
ever  marching  to  stronger  victories  over  sin  and 
nobler  visions  of  the  universe,  which  is  actuated  by 
righteousness  and  impelled  by  love,  which  is  kind, 
tender,  considerate,  and  unselfish,  which  is  hopeful 
and  not  despairing,  which  is  noble  and  not  base, 
which  is  happy  and  not  sad,  and  which  is  doing  all 


6  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

the  great  and  solid  work  of  humanity — this,  the 
central  host,  is  numbered  by  millions  and  tens  of 
milhons,  and  the  variety  of  its  employment  covers 
the  whole  field  of  human  enterprise. 

To  acquaint  ourselves  as  often  and  as  deeply  as 
possible  with  all  the  good  that  is  being  done  in  the 
world,  with  all  the  kindness  that  is  sweetening 
existence,  with  aU  the  victories  of  love  which  are 
exalting  and  redeeming  human  nature  in  every  street 
and  parish  of  the  globe  on  which  we  live,  this  is 
to  escape  from  the  gloom  and  to  shake  off  the 
melancholy  of  newspaper  pessimism  ;  and  to  asso- 
ciate ourselves  with  those  whose  lives  are  beautiful 
and  kind  and  true  is  to  acquire  that  healthful  spirit 
of  hope  and  enthusiasm  without  which  no  fruitful 
work  can  be  done,  no  Hfe  really  lived  in  the  warmth 
and  blessing  of  contented  faith. 

It  is  good  to  remind  oneself  when  reading  the 
newspaper  that  miUions  of  people  love  their  gardens 
more  than  the  tavern,  that  the  innocent  pleasures 
and  refining  occupations  of  life  are  more  in  number 
than  its  much-advertised  iniquities,  and  that  the 
love  of  home,  delight  in  children,  and  devotion  to 
books,  music,  and  pleasant  games  are  stiU  the 
mainspring  of  our  national  life.  But,  better  still 
is  it  to  go  into  the  world  and  see  for  ourselves 
how  innumerable  is  the  host  of  those  who  live  for 
others,  and  how  manifold,  unceasing,  and  miraculous 
are  the  activities  of  religious  faith. 

Let  me  say  to  those  whose  existence  is  narrowed 
by  circumstance,  and  whose  notions  of  the  world 
are  taken  from  the  newspaper,  that  the  longer  I  live 
and  the  more  I  get  to  know  of  the  miracles  of 


FOREWORD  7 

religious  energy,  the  more  do  I  marvel  at  men's 
pessimism  and  stand  amazed  before  the  confidence 
of  infidelity.^ 

IV 

This  book  attempts  to  tell  the  story  of  one  single 
society  working  in  the  enormous  field  of  Christian 
activity.  It  shows  how  a  small  seed  planted  in 
London  sixty-seven  years  ago  has  struck  its  roots 
deeply  into  our  national  life,  has  spread  its  branches 
throughout  every  land  in  the  British  Empire,  has 
sown  itself  in  nearly  every  kingdom  and  republic  of 
the  civiUsed  globe,  and  is  now  a  force  working  for 
Anglo-Saxon  unity,  the  peace  of  the  world,  and  the 
elevation  of  mankind.  Such  an  achievement  in 
itself  is  something  of  a  miracle,  for  the  man  who 
sowed  the  first  insignificant  seed  was  a  humble  clerk, 
almost  friendless  at  the  heart  of  the  Empire ;  but 
when  one  studies  the  thing  attentively,  when  one 
examines  the  ramifications  and  increasing  energies 
of  this  quiet,  unobtrusive,  and  almost  silent  society 
— above  all,  when  one  comes  face  to  face  with 
individuals  composing  it,  and  penetrates  to  the 
spiritual  passion  which  inspires  it — then  with  over- 
whelming force  does  the  intense  mystery  of  our 

^  As  this  book  goes  to  press  I  make  acquaintance  for  the  first  time 
with  a  most  interesting  and  important  work,  The  Christian  Mission 
and  Ragged  School  of  Hoxton  Market.  For  the  past  two  years  this 
little-known  society  of  unselfish  people  has  fed  some  10,000  hungry 
children  a  week.  It  provides  boots  and  clothing  for  thousands  of 
children,  helps  the  unemployed  of  Hoxton,  and  spreads  its  Christian 
influence  over  the  whole  of  that  struggling  area.  The  Superintendent 
of  this  Mission  is  unpaid,  has  to  work  hard  for  his  own  living, 
and  gives  himself  body  and  soul  to  the  work  with  a  quite  splendid 
enthusiasm.  Let  the  reader  who  is  cynical  or  pessimistic  pay  a  visit 
to  Hoxton  Market. 


8  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

human  life  come  home  to  the  heart  and  the  reality, 
the  penetrating  and  suffusing  reaUty  of  the  reUgious 
hfe  quicken  every  imagination  of  the  soul.  That 
such  a  work  is  meaningless  no  man  in  his  senses 
dare  affirm,  and  that  it  could  have  been  done 
without  faith  in  God  is  a  thing  impossible  to  beheve. 
And  this  is  but  one  activity  of  our  manifold 
rehgious  hfe,  but  one  society  among  thousands 
labouring  for  spiritual  evolution,  but  one  small 
regiment  in  the  grand  army  of  the  central  host 
which  carries  the  fortunes  of  humanity. 

Can  it  be  true,  the  news  He  is  declaring  1 
Oil,  let  us  trust  Him,  for  His  words  are  fair : 

Man  !  what  is  this  ?  and  why  art  thou  despairing  ? 
God  shall  forgive  thee  all  save  thy  despair  I 


CHAPTER   I 
A  MAN   AND   HIS   WORK 

IN  the  autumn  of  1821 — rather  a  savage  and 
brutal  period  of  English  history — there  was 
born  in  Ashway  Farm,  Dulverton,  a  child  destined 
to  spread  the  influence  of  his  personality  not  only 
tliroughout  the  British  Isles,  not  only  throughout 
the  British  Empire,  but  throughout  the  whole 
world. 

He  was  the  youngest  child  of  a  stalwart  yeoman 
named  Amos  Williams.  His  brothers  were  tall, 
stark,  hard-riding  men,  vigorous  with  the  winds 
and  spaces  of  the  moorland,  somewhat  barbarous 
with  the  roughness  and  struggle  of  their  remote 
existence.  Amos  Williams  himself  was  an  excellent 
farmer,  an  energetic  and  go-ahead  man  who  did  not 
allow  his  love  of  hunting  to  interfere  with  his  work 
in  the  fields.  Ehzabeth  WiUiams,  his  wife,  was 
a  notable  representative  of  refinement  in  that 
home  with  the  beautiful  name.  She  was  the  angel 
of  Ashway  Farm.  Small,  gentle,  humorous,  win- 
some, and  sanguine,  this  Httle  mother  of  a  great 
man  permeated  the  rough  fibres  of  that  Devonshire 
home-life  with  something  sweet  and  gentle.  She 
was  for  ever  weaving  into  the  sullen  fabric  of  that 
existence  threads  of  gold  which  transformed  the 

9 


10  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

sternness  of  the  pattern  into  something  which  sug- 
gested beauty,  and  which  was  ultimately,  in  the 
life  of  her  youngest  child,  to  command  the  ad- 
miration of  a  great  Queen,  the  reverence  of  nations, 
and  the  blessing  of  humanity. 

This  youngest  son,  George  Williams,  bore  no 
resemblance  to  his  brothers.  He  was  diminutive  ; 
he  was  highly  strung  ;  he  was  sensitive  and  gentle. 
But  whereas  the  tall  brothers  were  dour  men,  silent 
and  stern  except  in  moments  of  exhilaration,  the 
little  Benjamin  of  the  house  was  for  ever  and  irre- 
pressibly  bright  and  vivacious,  was  overflowing  with 
high  spirits,  was  fond  of  singing,  and  in  all  his 
wits  was  as  sharp  and  vital  as  his  brothers  were 
serious  and  stern.  Americans  would  have  called 
him  "  quick  in  the  uptake." 

He  went  to  Dulverton  Church  and  heard  a  great 
many  sermons  and  Hstened  to  a  great  many  prayers 
which  made  no  impression  on  his  mind  and  con- 
tributed not  the  smallest  influence  to  his  spiritual 
development.  He  went  to  a  dame-school,  and 
picked  up  with  average  ease  the  elements  of  learning. 
He  drove  his  father's  sheep  to  the  moors,  and  con- 
tracted the  habit  of  swearing.  He  chaffed  his 
sterner  brothers,  but  they  did  not  resent  his 
frivolities.  He  tried  on  one  occasion  to  lead  a 
waggon-load  of  hay  from  the  meadows,  and  a 
rut,  unobserved  by  the  inattentive  boy,  overturned 
both  waggon  and  horses.  The  brothers  mourned 
for  him  !  It  was  agreed  on  aU  hands  that  baby 
George  would  never  make  a  farmer.  The  over- 
turning of  the  waggon  pitched  the  lively  boy 
into    a    shop.     His    father    drove    him    one    day 


A  MAN  AND   HIS   WORK  11 

from  the  farmyard,  and  deposited  him  as  apprentice 
with  Mr.  Holmes,  draper,  of  Bridgwater,  there  to 
shift  for  himself. 

As  a  rule  the  youth  from  a  country  village  makes 
his  first  experience  of  evil  in  the  town  to  which  he 
goes  to  earn  his  living.  On  the  contrary  in  this 
case,  the  Uttle  George  Williams,  careless  of  anything 
in  the  nature  of  rehgion  and  given  to  swearing, 
made  his  acquaintance  with  spiritual  Ufe  in  the  shop 
of  a  Bridgwater  draper.  There  were  two  other 
apprentices  in  this  business,  and  both  of  them  were 
serious  lads.  Their  conversation,  their  manner  of 
life,  the  whole  set  and  purpose  of  their  characters 
came  to  the  farmer's  son  as  a  great  awakening. 
He  became  vividly  aware  of  another  world  pene- 
trating and  interpenetrating  the  world  of  sense, 
a  world  of  which  he  had  scarcely  begun  to  dream. 
His  master  was  a  CongregationaHst,  and  insisted 
that  his  apprentices  should  attend  chapel.  The 
early  spirit  of  Methodism  was  abroad,  and  in  the 
Bridgwater  chapel  little  George  Williams  heard 
sermons  which  deepened  the  influence  made  upon 
his  soul  by  the  conversation  of  the  other  appren- 
tices. He  saw  that  infinity  separated  good  from  evil. 
He  became  sharply  sensible  of  the  great  issues  of 
character.  He  visuaHsed  the  two  great  roads 
on  which  every  man  that  lives  must  make  his 
journey  to  Eternity.  He  felt  in  the  deepest  recesses 
of  his  soul  the  immense  separation  of  sin  and  the 
exquisite  unifying  force  of  love.  "  I  now  began  to 
pray,"  he  said,  "  but  even  on  my  knees  oaths  would 
come  to  my  lips." 

A  sermon  in  chapel  determined  his  life.    There  is 


12  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

here  nothing  of  cataclysm  or  traceable  upheaval. 
It  is  a  case  of  one  who  had  begun  to  seek,  one  who 
had  already  detected  the  great  difference  between 
good  and  evil,  quietly  but  with  an  iron  decision 
turning  the  direction  of  his  inward  life  away  from 
selfishness,  vanity,  and  evil,  towards  love,  beauty, 
and  God.  There  as  he  sat  and  listened  to  an  un- 
recorded sermon  by  a  preacher  whose  very  name  is 
probably  forgotten,  the  youth  in  a  back  pew  of  the 
chapel  just  simply  turned  his  face  to  God  and 
decided  for  righteousness.    He  said  of  that  time  : — • 

"  I  learnt  at  Bridgwater  to  see  the  vital  differ- 
ence, the  tremendous  importance,  of  the  spiritual 
life.  I  saw  in  this  town  two  roads — ^the  downward 
road  and  the  upward  road.  I  began  to  reason,  and 
said  to  myself,  '  What  if  I  continue  along  this 
downward  road,  where  shall  I  get  to,  where  is  the 
end  of  it,  what  will  become  of  me  ?  '  Thank 
God !  I  had  kept  in  the  clean  path ;  nevertheless 
I  was  on  the  downward  road." 

After  the  service  he  returned  to  the  shop,  knelt 
down  behind  the  counter,  and,  in  a  phrase  sometimes 
iU-used  but  too  marvellous  and  beautiful  in  the 
history  of  mankind  ever  to  become  false  or  meaning- 
less, gave  his  heart  to  God.  "  I  cannot  describe  to 
you,"  he  said,  "  the  joy  and  peace  which  flowed  into 
my  soul  when  first  I  saw  that  the  Lord  Jesus  had 
died  for  my  sins,  and  that  they  were  all  forgiven." 

Uncertainty  had  come  to  an  end.  Darkness  had 
rolled  away.  Henceforth  he  saw  a  straight  road, 
a  definite  destiny,  and  a  great  light  streaming  from 
the  kingdoms  of  invisible  beauty. 


A   MAN   AND   HIS   WORK  13 

At  the  age  of  nineteen,  the  days  of  his  apprentice- 
ship over,  George  WiUiams  was  taken  up  to  London 
and  presented  to  Mr.  Hitchcock,  head  of  a  great 
firm  of  drapers  on  Ludgate  Hill.  The  mighty  man 
looked  at  the  slender  youth,  adjudged  him  poor 
stuff,  and  said,  "  No  !  I've  no  place  for  him.  He's 
too  small."  Nelson's  reception  into  the  Navy  was 
not  colder  or  more  heart-breaking.  The  brother  who 
had  brought  George  WiUiams  to  London  said  that 
"  though  there  might  be  little  of  him  it  was  very 
good."  Mr.  Hitchcock  considered,  and  bade  the 
youth  come  again  next  day.  "  Well,"  he  said,  on 
this  second  view,  "  you  seem  a  healthy  young 
fellow.    I  will  give  you  a  trial." 

That  which  follows  is  like  a  spiritualised  version 
of  Dick  Whittington,  is  certainly  one  of  the  most 
wonderful,  picturesque,  and  romantic  stories  in 
modern  records  of  humanity.  Beyond  everything 
else,  it  is  as  striking  and  as  incontrovertible  a  proof 
of  the  Miracle  as  anything  in  the  biographies  of 
mysticism. 

George  Williams  found  himself  in  that  great 
warehouse  on  Ludgate  Hill,  one  among  a  host  of 
young  men  whose  lives  for  the  most  part  were  as 
low  and  vulgar  as  it  is  possible  to  conceive.  They 
must  not  be  judged.  From  early  morning  to  late  at 
night  they  toiled  Hke  slaves  ;  it  is  said  that  half  an 
hour  in  the  day  sufficed  for  the  three  beggarly  meals 
provided  by  the  firm  ;  and  beyond  the  work  of  the 
day  and  the  crowded,  frightful  dormitory — two 
men  occupying  in  many  cases  a  single  bed — there 
was  nothing  but  the  street. 

Horrified   by   what   he  saw   and   heard,   George 


14  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

Williams  looked  about  him  for  at  least  one  or  two 
virtuous  men  with  whom  he  might  share  his 
spiritual  Hfe  in  this  crowded  scene  of  materialism. 
It  was  with  him  from  the  very  first  a  certainty  of 
God  that  the  spiritual  Hfe  is  to  be  shared.  He  had 
nothing  in  his  eager  blood  of  the  cloister,  nothing 
in  his  burning  soul  of  the  hermit  and  fakir.  To 
associate  with  men  who  loved  the  Way,  whose 
hearts  were  consecrated  by  the  Truth,  whose  souls 
longed  for  ever  greater  indraughts  of  the  Life,  this 
was  the  peculiar  genius  of  his  spirit  and  the  definite 
achievement  of  his  great  career. 

When  he  had  found  the  two  or  three,  they 
gathered  themselves  together  and  prayed.  Perhaps 
the  most  interesting  element  in  the  story  of  this 
man's  extraordinary  life  is  his  concept  of  prayer. 
He  believed  with  impHcit  faith  in  the  power  of 
praj^er,  he  had  no  shadow  of  doubt  in  his  soul  that 
prayer  reached  to  God  and  returned  in  quiet 
blessing  to  the  earth  ;  but  he  also  believed  that 
prayer  should  be  sent  not  loosely  nor  aimlessly 
into  the  vastness  of  infinity,  but  should  have  for 
its  objective  some  definite  mark  here  upon  earth. 
He  beheved  in  praying  for  individuals. 

WTiatever  some  men  may  be  disposed  to  think 
of  this  idea,  the  facts  are  plain,  the  results  are 
indisputable.  It  will  really  not  do  for  the  superior 
person  to  scoff  or  for  the  indulgent  man  to  smile. 
George  Wilhams  prayed  for  particular  men,  the 
most  unhkely  and  hardened  men,  and  their  lives 
became  transformed.  He  set  his  Httle  company  of 
faithful  friends  to  pray  for  other  men,  again  the 
most  unlikely  and  hardened  men,  and  their  lives 


A   MAN   AND   HIS   WORK  15 

were  transformed.  Miracles  occurred  in  that  ware- 
house on  Ludgate  Hill  as  wonderful  and  as  in- 
disputable as  any  natural  law  in  the  physical 
kingdom.  A  man  may  be  unwiUing  to  believe  this 
affirmation,  but  he  cannot  refute  the  testimony. 
He  may  desire  to  ignore  the  fact,  but  to  this  day  it 
stares  him  in  the  face  throughout  the  civilised  globe. 

"  It  was  said  in  after  years,"  writes  Mr.  J.  E. 
Hodder  WiUiams,^  "that  when  he  joined  Messrs. 
Hitchcock  and  Rogers  it  was  almost  impossible  for  a 
young  man  in  the  house  to  be  a  Christian,  and  that, 
three  years  afterwards,  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
be  anything  else." 

Let  it  be  remembered,  we  have  overwhelming 
evidence  for  the  truth  of  a  contemporary  assertion 
that  in  that  period  of  our  history  "  there  was  no 
class  more  degraded  and  dissolute,  none  who  were 
sunk  deeper  in  ungodliness  and  dissipation  than  the 
shopmen  of  London." 

George  Williams,  we  are  told,  on  finding  himself 
one  among  a  host  of  low,  vulgar,  indifferent,  and 
depraved  young  men,  immediately  singled  them  out, 
one  by  one,  and  prayed  for  them  individually,  day 
after  day,  night  after  night,  in  the  dormitory  where 
life  was  brought  almost  as  near  to  perdition  as  it 
can  go  on  earth. 

One  of  the  worst  men  in  the  house  was  a  gay 
and  uproarious  person  named  Rogers.  He  was  the 
presiding  genius  of  smoking  concerts  at  a  public- 
house  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  was  so  antipathetic 
to  the  beautiful  in  life  that  he   deliberately   set 

^  The  Life  oj  Sir  George  WilliamSt  by  J.  E.  Hodder  Williams, 
(Hodder  and  Stoughton.) 


16  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

himself  to  prevent  men  from  coming  under  the 
influence  of  religion.  Above  all  others  in  that 
estabhshment  he  was  the  champion  of  existing 
materiahsm,  the  avowed  enemy  of  a  threatening 
religiousness.  George  WiUiams  immediately  marked 
him  out  as  the  Saul  of  that  httle  warehouse  world, 
the  Saul  who  must  be  changed,  by  the  grace  of 
God,  into  the  Paul  of  the  new  life. 

This  man  was  first  softened  by  the  tact  and 
pleasantness  of  George  WiUiams,  was  then  moved 
to  attend  the  meetings  of  the  two  or  three,  grew 
concerned  for  the  health  of  his  spiritual  life,  and 
finally  became  one  of  them — one  of  the  twelve  who, 
in  an  upper  room  in  a  warehouse  by  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral,  laid  the  foundations  of  a  Brotherhood 
which  now  covers  the  whole  earth.  "  By  a  curious 
coincidence,"  says  Mr.  Hodder  Wilhams,  "  his  is  the 
only  one  of  the  twelve  cards  of  membership  which 
has  been  preserved."  George  Williams  said  to  a 
friend  some  few  days  before  this  notable  event,  "  I 
was  praying  for  him  this  morning  until  it  seemed  as 
if  I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven  saying  to  me,  '  Yes ' ; 
and  I  knew  he  would  be  converted." 

It  was  the  fixed  opinion  of  George  WiUiams  that 
the  first  tiventy-four  hours  of  a  young  man^s  life 
in  London  usually  settled  his  eternity  in  heaven  or 
hell.  With  such  a  passionate  conviction  in  his  soul 
he  could  not  rest  content  with  one,  two,  three,  four, 
and  five  conversions  among  his  fellow-clerks.  He 
sought  to  change  the  whole  spirit  of  the  estabUsh- 
ment.  To  do  this  it  was  necessary  to  convert  the 
master,  the  gruff  and  vigorous  rich  man  who  sat  in 
his  counting-house   and  directed  every  energy  of 


A  MAN  AND   HIS   WORK  17 

that  great  machine  with  the  resolution  of  a  most 
masterful  dictator. 

George  Williams,  without  a  single  misgiving, 
began  to  pray  for  the  soul  of  George  Hitchcock. 
He  was  at  this  time  high  up  in  the  firm's  service, 
a  valuable  servant,  an  industrious  worker,  not  only 
one  who  could  be  trusted  and  relied  upon,  but  one 
whose  talent  for  the  trade  added  handsomely  to  the 
firm's  profits.  When  it  came  to  the  ears  of  the  mas- 
ter that  this  youth  from  Devonshire  "was  praying 
for  him,  that  in  one  of  the  bedrooms  of  the  establish- 
ment four  or  five  of  his  servants  met  every  night 
and  actually  prayed  for  his  soul,  he  was  filled  with 
amazement,  was  staggered,  was  angry,  and  sent 
for  George  Williams  mto  his  presence. 

It  is  well  for  the  reader  to  remind  himself  that  this 
narrative  is  no  romance,  that  George  Hitchcock,  of 
Ludgate  Hill,  was  no  character  in  a  novel,  but  actual 
flesh  and  blood,  one  of  the  great  master  merchants  of 
the  City  of  London.  When  I  was  in  his  warehouse 
the  other  day,  and  looked  through  the  glass  partition 
and  saw  the  clerks  at  their  desks,  the  cashier  in  his 
l)ox,  and  the  coming  and  going  of  many  people 
through  the  swing-doors  opening  on  the  street,  I 
thought  of  old  Osborne  of  Vanity  Fair,  of  young 
George  coming  to  borrow  money  from  Mr.  Chopper, 
of  the  Family  Bible  in  Russell  Square,  and  of  the 
old  merchant  in  his  broken  age  going  home  from 
the  City  to  see  the  little  George  Osborne  riding  on 
his  pony  in  Regent's  Park. 

But  this  story  is  a  true  story,  and  it  is  many 
times  more  wonderful. 

George  Williams  stood  in  front  of  his  master. 
c 


18  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

"  Is  it  true,"  demanded  Mr.  Hitchcock,  "  this  tale 
I  hear  about  you,   that  you  are  praying  for  my 

SGlll  ?  " 

George  WiUiams  was  startled,  but  he  faced  his 
master  and  said,  "  Yes,  sir,  it  is  true." 

Hitchcock  measured  him  with  stern  eyes,  meas- 
ured the  little  man  of  whom  he  had  said  not  many 
years  ago,  "  He's  too  small.'*  Perhaps  he  now 
seemed  bigger  than  he  had  thought. 

After  a  pause  he  asked,  "  You  pray  for  my 
conversion  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

''  You  think  I  need  conversion  ?  " 

''  Yes,  sir." 

''  Are  you  aware  that  I  am  a  churchwarden  ?  " 

''  Yes,  sir." 

''  But  you  do  not  think  I  am  converted  ?  " 
No,  sir." 

'-'  Why  not  ?  " 

The  quick,  challenging  question  was  opportunity 
with  a  golden  key.  George  Williams  opened  his 
heart.  He  told  his  master  many  terrible  truths 
about  the  business.  He  spoke  eloquently  of  the 
tainted  moral  atmosphere.  He  brought  home  to 
the  heart  and  soul  of  the  rich  man  his  frightful 
responsibility  towards  those  who  served  him.  He 
magnified  nothing,  but  he  spared  nothing.  He 
told  the  truth,  and  that  sufficed. 

Hitchcock  heard  him  out. 

"  You  can  go,"  he  said  ;  "  but  continue  your 
prayers  for  me." 

In  a  few  days  the  man's  life  was  transformed. 
He  came  pubKcly  into   the  office    one   day    and 


A  MAN   AND   HIS   WORK  19 

announced  certain  momentous  changes  in  the 
conduct  of  the  business.  He  gave  his  influence 
to  the  spiritual  work  of  George  Wilhams.  He  set 
himself  to  purify  his  house  from  the  top  to  the 
bottom. 

The  work  flourished,  but  George  WiUiams  was  not 
satisfied.  He  thought  of  the  thousands  of  young 
men  pouring  into  London  from  the  provinces, 
thousands  of  pure  and  innocent  lives  for  whom  the 
City  waited  like  a  hungry  lion,  thousands  of  men 
inexpressibly  dear  to  their  parents,  inexpressibly 
precious  to  England,  inexpressibly  dear  and  precious 
to  God.  They  came  to  London,  many  of  them, 
upright,  chivalrous,  manly,  industrious,  honourable, 
and,  in  some  cases,  dreaming  dreams.  And  London 
had  nothing  for  them  but  foul  dormitories,  heart- 
breaking hours  of  labour,  the  companionship  of 
debased  and  brutalised  minds,  the  excitements 
of  the  tavern,  the  perils  of  the  street,  the  hell  of 
disenchantment  and  despair.  Could  nothing  be 
done  for  them  ? — nothing  to  save  them  ? — nothing 
to  develop  and  uplift  them  ? 

One  day  he  was  crossing  Blackfriars  Bridge  with 
a  fellow- worker  named  Edward  Valentine.  The 
great  warehouses  rose  above  moored  barges  on  either 
side  of  the  broad  river,  dark,  smoky,  and  forbidding 
against  the  sunlight  of  a  spring  evening.  The 
gentleness  of  the  sky  was  black  with  spires,  towers, 
roofs,  chimneys,  and  congregating  stone.  Crowds 
of  people  and  crowds  of  vehicles  passed  to  and  fro. 
The  sense  of  humanity  which  comes  to  us  in  a  great 
city  was  merged  into  the  beauty  of  the  sky,  the 
width  of  the  river,   and  the  peace  of   a   Sunday 


20  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

twilight.  With  the  stir  of  feet  and  the  turning 
of  wheels  came  the  sound  of  bells.  Between  the 
arches  of  the  bridge  the  most  human  river  in  the 
world  flowed  towards  the  sea.  Afar  to  the  west, 
in  a  haze  of  smoke  and  mist,  the  sun  was  almost 
level  with  the  roofs.  It  was  one  of  those  scenes, 
one  of  those  moments  when  the  stress  of  material 
existence  sets  no  darkness  between  the  soul  and  its 
destiny,  when  hfe,  real  hfe,  is  felt  to  he  deep  within 
the  silence  of  our  invisible  being. 

The  sweetest  thought  in  the  unfathomable  depths 
of  his  heart  rose  to  the  hps  of  George  WiUiams. 
He  took  the  arm  of  his  friend,  and  asked  him  if  he 
was  prepared  to  make  a  great  sacrifice  for  Christ. 
The  friend,  Edward  Valentine,  rephed,  "  If  called 
upon  to  do  so,  I  hope  and  trust  I  can."  They  had 
been  very  silent  up  to  this  point,  each  man  lost  in  his 
own  reverie.  But  now  George  WiUiams  became 
eloquent.    He  told  his  dream  for  the  first  time. 

And  this  was  the  dream.  To  spread  into  every 
large  estabHshment  throughout  the  City  of  London 
the  same  spirit  of  profound  religion  which  had  now 
begun  to  move  in  the  warehouse  on  Ludgate  Hill, 
a  spirit  of  prayer,  a  spirit  of  love,  a  spirit  of  service, 
so  that  the  whole  trade  of  London  might  one  day 
be  associated  in  worship  of  God  and  devotion  to  the 
life  of  Christ,  so  that  no  single  s'oul  might  be  lost  to 
the  eternal  truth  of  existence  save  those  who 
definitely  elected  for  evil. 

He  said  he  felt  himself  persuaded  that  if  a  few 
earnest,  devoted,  and  self-denying  men  could  be 
found  to  unite  themselves  for  this  purpose,  the 
work  could  be  accomphshed.    It  would  mean  hard, 


A  MAN  AND  HIS  WORK  21 

incessant  work.  It  would  mean  an  absolute  self- 
sacrifice.  It  would  mean  a  lifelong  service.  But 
it  could  be  done,  with  God's  blessing. 

Edward  Valentine  said  that  he  agreed. 

And  this  was  the  beginning  of  the  great  Brother- 
hood. 

From  that  moment  when  he  gave  the  first  utterance 
to  his  thought,  George  Williams  lost  not  a  single 
day  till  the  end  of  his  long  life  in  toiling  for  its 
realisation  and  its  greater  power  for  righteousness. 
From  that  moment  on  Blackfriars  Bridge  to  the 
other  moment  in  Devonshire  when  he  passed  to  the 
invisible  and  eternally  beautiful  murmuring  the 
words  "  Beloved  young  men  !  "  the  whole  life  of  this 
man  was  consecrated  to  the  still  greater  glory  of  his 
idea,  which,  even  in  the  vigour  of  his  own  fife  time, 
had  passed  into  every  region  of  our  Empire,  and 
into  every  country  of  the  civilised  world. 

A  circular  was  sent  out  to  all  the  chief  drapery 
estabHshments  at  both  ends  of  the  town  ;  satis- 
factory answers  were  received ;  a  meeting  was 
decided  upon  ;  a  society  was  formed  ;  and  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association  came  into  being. 

In  the  chapter  which  follows  I  shaU  trace  briefly 
the  fortunes  of  this  Association  from  its  humble 
beginnings  in  1844  down  to  the  present  day,  when 
it  is  recognised  by  America,  by  Canada,  by  Aus- 
tralasia as  a  force  of  tremendous  importance  in 
the  national  life,  and  when  it  seems  as  if  it  is  about 
to  enter  on  an  even  more  vigorous  existence  in  the 
home  and  city  of  its  birth. 

For  the  present  I  would  tell  the  reader  the  rest 
of  George  Williams's  story,  so  far  as  its  many  and 


22  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

strange  events  can  be  compressed  into  a  few  words 
of  narrative. 

George  Hitchcock's  health  gave  way  in  the  year 
1863  ;  his  wife  consulted  the  family  solicitor  as  to 
the  future  of  the  business  ;  the  sohcitor's  advice 
resolved  itself  into  a  phrase.  He  said,  "  Take  young 
George  WiUiams  into  partnership." 

The  little  boy  from  a  Devonshire  farm  became  a 
partner  in  one  of  the  world's  greatest  business 
houses.  At  the  age  of  thirty-two  he  married  the 
daughter  of  his  former  master,  Helen  Hitchcock, 
whose  life  was  given  with  an  impulse  of  the  most 
earnest  and  enthusiastic  devotion  to  the  great 
charitable  purposes  of  her  husband.  From  that 
moment  everything  prospered  with  our  Dick 
Whittington.  But  blessed  with  enormous  and 
increasing  wealth,  he  Hved  not  merely  frugally,  but 
parsimoniously,  ordering  the  lives  even  of  his 
children,  whom  he  adored,  with  a  rigorous  regard 
to  economy,  in  order,  as  he  told  them  with  a  pleasant 
smile,  that  they  might  have  more  money  to  give 
away.  He  was  a  man  of  whom  it  may  be  said  with 
entire  truth,  and  not  merely  as  a  convenient  phrase 
for  expressing  a  lavish  generosity,  that  he  never 
thought  of  himself.  His  wealth  was  his  opportunity 
to  help  others  ;  his  time  was  only  his  own  that  he 
might  devote  it  to  his  feUow-creatures  ;  his  energies, 
his  faculties,  his  enthusiasms,  and  his  strength  of 
soul  and  body  belonged  to  God. 

When,  on  the  occasion  of  the  Association's 
Jubilee,  Queen  Victoria  made  him  a  knight,  he 
accepted  the  honour,  not  for  himself,  but  for  the 
object  of  his  life.    It  was  to  make  the  Association 


A  MAN   AND   HIS   WORK  23 

better  known  in  England  and  throughout  the  world 
that  he  laboured  from  morning  till  night,  and 
thought,  and  prayed,  and  lived  'wdth  all  the  splendid 
courage  and  determination  of  his  royal  character. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  he  devoted  himself 
exclusively  to  the  Association  which  he  himself 
had  called  into  being.  This  had  the  first  affection 
of  his  heart,  and  the  first  caU  on  his  sympathy  ;  but 
he  gave  himself  with  extraordinary  energy  and  a 
most  earnest  devotion  to  many  other  agencies  for 
good — some  of  which  sprang  from  the  loins  of  the 
Association.  At  the  time  of  his  death  he  was  pre- 
sident of  thirty-nine  societies.  How  he  contrived 
to  support  the  tax  upon  his  physical  powers  it  is 
difficult  to  imagine.  He  was  no  decorative  president 
or  figure-head  of  philanthropy,  and  no  sleeping 
partner  in  the  warehouse  of  his  gigantic  business. 
And  in  addition  to  aU  this  work  there  was  the 
labour  of  a  private  correspondence  sufficient  to 
break  the  strength  of  an  ordinary  man.  Letters 
rained  upon  him  from  aU  quarters  of  the  world, 
and  not  only  from  men  of  one  class,  but  from  every 
class  in  the  community.  No  one  wiU  ever  know — 
for  his  son  burned  all  his  correspondence  and 
will  disclose  no  secrets — how  many  men,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  George  WiUiams  rescued  from 
ruin,  lifted  from  despair,  and  strove  to  direct  to 
God.  On  the  day  that  followed  the  announcement 
of  his  death  over  ten  thousand  letters  of  sympathy, 
many  of  them  expressing  a  most  heartfelt  gratitude 
for  help  he  had  given  to  the  writers,  were  received 
by  Lady  Williams  and  her  sons.  For  several  months 
a  staff  of  clerks  was  employed  acknowledging  the 


24  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

letters  which  continued  to  pour  upon  his  family 
from  every  quarter  of  the  world. 

One  who  knew  him  well,  quite  well,  said  to  me, 
"  He  was  not  really  a  very  first-rate  man  of  business. 
Clever,  industrious,  courageous,  and  far-seeing,  yes  ; 
but  not  a  mighty  organiser  and  pioneer.  His  genius 
lay  in  this,  that  he  saw  the  folly  of  doing  ten  men's 
work  himself,  and  got  the  right  ten  men  to  do  his 
own  work.  His  knowledge  of  human  character, 
his  judgment  of  a  man  was  almost  infaUible.  He 
seemed  to  read  a  man's  heart  in  a  glance  of  his 
eyes.  I  don't  know  that  he  was  ever  once  mistaken 
in  the  men  he  chose  for  directing  his  business." 

That  he  was  a  pioneer  in  humanitarianism  one 
need  not  trouble  to  argue.  It  is  enough  to  state, 
what  is  perhaps  not  widely  known,  that  the  great 
Early  Closing  Movement  sprang  from  his  brain, 
that  he  set  it  going  in  his  own  house  against  aU  the 
warnings  and  protests  of  business  men,  and  went 
to  America  and  initiated  it  there.  He  was  told  it 
meant  ruin  to  his  firm,  that  no  one  would  foUow 
his  example,  and  that  he  would  be  laughed  to  scorn 
by  the  traders  of  the  whole  world.  But  the  man 
smiled  at  these  solemn  words.  "  You  wiU  see,"  he 
retorted,  "  that  the  thing  wiU  become  general  and 
universal.  It  is  the  right  thing,  and  therefore  it  is 
the  wise  thing."  He  never  once  regarded  righteous- 
ness as  a  foohsh  or  dangerous  speculation.  His 
rational  mind,  with  its  shrewd  judgments  and 
shining  humour,  saw  that  righteousness  was  but 
spiritual  common  sense.  He  did  nothing  for  the 
sake  of  money,  but  what  he  did  brought  money  and 
increased  prosperity. 


A  MAN  AND   HIS   WORK  25 

One  likes  to  think  that  every  clerk  and  shopman, 
from  those  employed  in  the  greatest  banks  down  to 
those  who  slave  in  a  little  draper's  shop,  every  one 
of  the  vast  army  of  employed  citizens  throughout 
the  whole  world  owe  their  Saturday  afternoons  and 
their  week-day  hours  of  leisure,  in  the  first  instance, 
to  the  httle  son  of  a  Devonshire  yeoman  who  began 
his  Hfe  by  spilling  a  cart  of  hay. 

"  You  must  be  careful  to  remember/'  one  of  his 
friends  told  me,  "  that  George  Williams,  in  spite  of 
his  theology,  was  one  of  the  brightest  and  happiest 
men  alive.  I  do  not  think  I  ever  met  a  man  so 
contagiously  cheerful.  It  was  splendid  to  see  him 
enter  a  hall  where  a  great  meeting  was  expected,  and 
where  perhaps  only  a  dozen  people  were  congre- 
gated ;  his  eyes  would  shine,  his  lips  break  into  a 
smile,  and,  rubbing  his  hands,  he  would  exclaim, 
'  This  is  splendid  !  We  can  have  a  real  talk  !  '  I 
may  truly  say  that  I  never  once  saw  his  face  faU, 
or  once  knew  him  dejected  or  disappointed.  He 
was  the  noblest  optimist  that  ever  gave  himself  to 
humanity.  And  I  need  not  tell  you  what  was  the 
secret.  His  faith  was  that  of  a  httle  child.  God, 
for  him,  was  a  Father,  a  living  and  a  most  loving 
Father.  He  knew  that  so  long  as  he  worked  his 
hardest,  prayed  with  all  his  heart,  and  really 
beheved,  God  Himself,  in  some  way  and  at  some 
time,  would  give  the  increase." 

He  was  a  man  who  spoke  jerkily,  walked  jerkily, 
and  made  all  his  movements  jerkily.  He  was 
one  of  those  electric  personalities  which  break  up 
stagnation  in  a  wide  radius  of  their  contact,  and 
set  the  duUest  torpor  into  motion.    No  man  could 


26  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

easily  yawn  in  his  presence.  He  had  the  most  benign 
smile,  the  most  contagious  twinkle  of  the  eyes,  and 
the  most  lovable  way  of  saying  kind  or  stimulating 
things.  On  occasions  he  could  be  sharply  amusing. 
One  of  his  friends,  a  fat  and  comfortable  person, 
once  said  to  him,  very  lugubriously,  "I'm  ill, 
seriously  ill.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  My  doctor 
says  I  must  take  care  of  myself.  What  would  you 
advise  me  to  do?  "  "  Change  your  doctor,"  was 
the  answer. 

Men  of  all  nations  and  the  most  various  occupa- 
tions entertained  towards  him  a  feeling  of  the  very 
warmest,  almost  a  fihal  affection.  At  the  time  of 
the  Association's  jubilee  in  America,  Mr.  Pierpont 
Morgan,  Mr.  Rockefeller,  and  Mr.  Dodge  happened 
to  be  breakfasting  together  in  America.  It  was 
suggested  that  they  should  send  "  the  dear  old 
man  "  a  cable  of  congratulations.  The  message  was 
composed,  and  was  about  to  be  despatched  when 
Mr.  Morgan,  who  is  a  better  and  kinder  Christian 
than  many  people  suppose,  exclaimed  with  a  note 
of  rebuke  in  his  voice,  "  But  stop  a  minute  !  Anyone 
can  send  a  telegram.  Surely  we  ought  to  do  some- 
thing to  show  our  appreciation  and  affection." 
The  others  agreed.  After  a  few  minutes  it  was 
decided  to  ascertain  from  the  Central  Office  of  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association  in  America  the 
extent  of  its  debts  and  liabilities.  This  was  done 
by  telephone.  The  sum  was  wiped  out  then  and 
there,  and  a  few  words  were  added  to  the  original 
cable,  saying  that  the  Association  in  New  York  was 
now  clear  of  debt. 

Another  instance.     One  day  a  poor  widow  called 


A  MAN  AND  HIS   WORK  27 

upon  Sir  George  Williams  begging  his  assistance  in 
a  great  tragedy.  Her  son  had  run  away  from  home. 
The  good  man,  to  whom  the  widow  was  a  complete 
stranger,  gave  himself  up  to  help  her.  It  was 
discovered  that  the  boy  had  taken  service  in  a  ship 
bound  for  America.  George  Williams  at  once  sent 
a  cablegram  to  a  friend  of  his  in  Philadelphia,  the 
millionaire  John  Wanamaker,  asking  him  to  have 
the  boy  met,  reasoned  with,  and  sent  back  to 
England.  When  the  ship  arrived  Mr.  Wanamaker 
himself  was  there  to  meet  it ;  he  carried  off  the  boy 
to  his  own  house,  entertained  him,  and  sent  him 
back  to  England  with  his  love  to  George  Williams. 
No  man  could  ever  do  too  much  for  this  noble 
spirit. 

But  of  all  the  men  who  knew  him  and  felt  for 
him  this  warmth  of  affection,  none,  of  course,  ever 
got  nearer  to  his  heart,  or  more  perfectly  appreciated 
the  man's  depth  of  soul,  than  his  son,  Mr.  Howard 
Williams.  To  most  people  Mr.  WilUams  is  known 
chiefly  as  treasurer  to  perhaps  the  wisest  charity 
in  England,  Dr.  Barnardo's  Homes,  although  very 
few  people  are  aware  to  what  extent  he  has  given 
himself,  heart  and  soul,  to  that  great  business  of 
saving  children  and  making  citizens.  But  Mr. 
WiUiams  is  also  one  of  the  great  forces  at  the  back 
of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  and  not 
only  because  he  believes  in  the  work,  and  not  only 
because  he  sees  that  the  room  for  its  development 
is  enormous,  but  because  of  his  father's  memory. 

It  is  impossible  for  me  to  relate  here  what  Mr. 
Williams  told  me  of  his  father's  Hfe,  still  more 
impossible  to  convey  the  tone  of  affection  in  his 


28  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

voice,  the  light  of  love  and  devotion  in  his  eyes, 
as  he  spoke  of  that  great  and  remarkable  man.  One 
saw  that  the  impression  made  by  the  father  on  the 
son's  heart  was  as  deep  and  everlasting  as  the  eSect 
of  a  great  revelation  or  the  memory  of  a  profound 
beauty.  "  We  believe  and  hold,"  he  said,  speaking 
of  the  Association  and  its  developments,  "  the 
faith  my  father  taught  us.  First,  that  the  most 
important  thing  in  hfe  is  Character  ;  second,  that 
without  Christ  the  perfection  of  Character  is  im- 
possible ;  and  third,  that  the  way  of  approach  to 
Christ  is  by  prayer  and  reading  of  the  Bible.  That 
was  the  foundational  thing  in  my  father's  soul. 
That  was  the  inspiration  of  his  hfe.  And  it  is  the 
foundational  fact  of  the  Association.  The  Associa- 
tion will  grow  in  England  as  it  has  grown  in  the 
United  States,  in  Canada,  and  in  Austraha.  It 
will  change  as  everything  changes  in  time.  It  will 
certainly  march  forward  and  enlarge  its  vision.  But 
it  wiU  always  have  as  the  rock  of  its  foundation 
those  three  dogmas  of  my  father's  hfe  :  Character  ; 
Character  through  Christ ;  Christ  through  prayer 
and  reading  of  the  Bible.  And  I  don't  beheve  any 
good  and  lasting  work  can  be  done  in  the  world 
where  those  three  foundational  things  are  absent,  or, 
if  present,  weak  and  unemphatic.  My  father  made 
religion  the  base  of  the  Association  and  the  base  of 
his  own  life.     His  motto  was.  First  things  first. ^"^ 

On  the  14th  November,  1905,  under  darkened 
heavens,  and  in  suUen  faUing  rain,  the  people  of 
London  stood  in  the  shuttered  streets,  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  arrested  traffic,  and  watched  the 
passing  of  the  body  of  George  Williams  to  St.  Paul's 


A  MAN  AND   HIS   WORK  29 

Cathedral.  In  the  almost  unnatural  gloom  of  the 
wintry  afternoon  letters  in  white  flowers  on  a 
background  of  violets,  shining  from  a  wreath  at  the 
back  of  the  hearse,  were  visible  to  every  eye — the 
one  utterance,  the  one  intelhgible  sound  in  that 
dumb  and  solemn  progress  of  the  dead.  These  words 
were,  "  Loved  by  all." 

That  simple  epitaph,  spoken  by  white  flowers, 
moved  through  the  hush  of  London  Hke  the  deep 
Amen  of  angels  at  the  end  of  a  beautiful  life.  No 
spot  of  rain  seemed  to  duU  those  shining  flowers, 
no  speck  of  London's  mud  besmirched  their  purity. 
Through  the  sombre  gloom,  close  at  the  head  of 
the  dead  man,  those  letters  shone  to  right  and  left  of 
the  darkened  streets,  and  breathed  a  sense  of  ten- 
derest  humanity  and  sweetest  divinity  on  a  great 
and  mighty  City  whose  iron  pulses  beat  to  the  ends  of 
the  earth.  Just  those  words,  woven  by  the  hands 
and  hearts  of  the  dead  man's  staff  in  his  house  of 
business,  and  the  rest,  silence  and  the  turning  of 
wheels. 

Without  pomp  or  pageantry  of  any  kind,  the 
gentle,  sweet-hearted,  and  courageous  man  was 
borne  from  the  streets  of  the  great  City  and  laid 
to  rest  close  to  the  place  of  Nelson's  burial.  Like 
Nelson,  he  had  begun  his  life  in  dehcacy  and  in 
ridicule,  and  like  Nelson,  but  with  even  a  more 
universal  blessing,  he  was  laid  to  rest  at  the  heart  of 
the  British  Empire, 


CHAPTER   II 
THE   WORK 

ON  Midsummer  Day  in  the  year  1844  a  meeting 
was  held  in  St.  Martin's  Coffee  House,  to 
report  upon  the  result  of  the  circular  sent  out  to  the 
big  drapery  establishments  in  London,  suggesting  the 
formation  of  a  society  for  young  men  on  rehgious 
lines.  George  Wilhams  presided  at  this  meeting, 
announced  that  the  answers  to  the  circular  were 
encouraging,  and  a  sum  of  thirty  shillings  was  raised 
towards  expenses. 

In  a  few  weeks,  so  successful  was  the  undertaking, 
larger  premises  were  needed,  and  a  room  was  taken 
in  Radley's  Hotel,  Blackfriars,  at  a  rental  of  seven 
shiUings  and  sixpence  a  week  —  "an  increased 
expenditure  which  seemed  to  many  almost  too 
daring  a  venture  !  " 

"  The  first  months  of  the  Association's  existence," 
says  Mr.  Hodder  Williams,  "  were  marked  by  many 
signs  of  steady  progress.  Religious  services  were 
established  in  fourteen  other  houses  of  business, 
while  weekly  meetings  were  held  at  Radley's  Hotel, 
'  from  which  gatherings  the  members  of  the  Associa- 
tion separated  to  their  various  places  of  business 
strengthened  and  cheered  by  such  fellowship  for 
the  difficult  task  of  keeping  their  flag  flying  in  dor- 

30 


THE   WORK  31 

mitory,  shop,  and  warehouse.'  The  members  were 
increasing  constantly,  and  fresh  conversions  were 
announced  at  every  meeting.  ...  It  must  not  be 
forgotten  that  the  work  began  as  an  association  of 
Christian  young  men,  young  men  full,  it  is  true,  of 
missionary  zeal,  but  anxious,  first  of  all,  so  to 
strengthen  each  other  by  this  bond  of  companionship 
that  they  might,  by  their  united  stand,  show  a  bold 
front  against  the  forces  of  evil  which  threatened 
to  overcome  the  weaker  brethren." 

Thus,  as  little  else  but  a  society  for  prayer  and 
Bible  reading,  the  Association  grew  rapidly  in  the 
metropolis,  and  became  presently  a  society  for 
"  mental  culture,"  without  losing  its  essential 
spirit  of  religion.  Before  it  was  five  months  old  as 
many  as  160  men  attended  to  hear  the  reading  of 
the  first  reports.  Lectures  were  dehvered  by  such 
distinguished  men  as  Archbishop  Whately,  Dean 
Stanley,  and  Professor  Richard  Owen  on  a  variety 
of  subjects  which  ranged  *'  from  the  Tabernacle  of 
Israel  to  the  Mythology  of  the  Greeks,  from  Renan 
to  Hogarth,  and  from  Christian  Evidences  to 
Popular  Amusements."  Nearly  three  thousand 
people  attended  some  of  these  lectures. 

The  great  masters  of  trade  and  commerce  gave 
warm  encouragement  to  this  prospering  society. 
*'  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  the  platform 
at  the  yearly  gatherings  of  the  Young  Men's  Chris- 
tian Association  .  .  .  was  occupied  by  more  notable 
men  from  aU  sections  of  society  than  were  to  be 
found  at  any  other  public  gathering  of  a  reHgious 
nature.  .  .  .  The  most  noble  of  all  names  connected 
with  the  Association  will  ever  remain  that  of  the 


32  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

heroic  philanthropist  and  statesman,  Lord  Shaftes- 
bury. It  was  in  1848,  when,  as  Lord  Ashley,  he  had 
reached  the  height  of  his  power  in  the  House  of 
Commons  .  .  .  that  he  first  came  into  close  personal 
touch  with  George  WiUiams.  .  .  .  The  complete 
story  of  their  friendship  will  never  be  told.  George 
WiUiams  would  not  have  wished  the  details  of  such 
a  relationship  to  be  made  pubhc,  and  silence  is  the 
golden  tribute  to  both  men.  It  is  enough  to  say 
that  one  of  the  finest,  strongest  characters  of  these 
latter  days  spoke  of  Sir  George  WiUiams  as  his 
'  best  friend,'  and  asked  repeatedly  for  him  as 
he  lay  waiting  for  Death."  In  the  estimation  of 
Lord  Shaftesbury  the  Association  was  a  "  valuable 
institution  set  for  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of 
men." 

But  it  was  not  aU  plain  sailing.  To  George 
WiUiams  it  became  every  day  more  evident  that 
the  Association  must  open  ever  wider  gates  to  the 
increasing  host  of  young  men  exposed  to  the 
loneliness  and  temptations  of  London.  He  was 
broad-minded,  tolerant,  far-seeing,  and  tender- 
hearted. He  had  an  infinite  compassion  for  young 
men  surrounded  on  every  side  by  the  bewitchments 
of  evil.  He  would  have  done  almost  anything, 
short  of  renouncing  the  reUgious  basis  of  the 
Association,  to  draw  aU  men  into  its  fold.  But  he 
was  opposed  by  the  timorous,  the  intolerant,  and  the 
narrow-minded.  It  was  not  until  after  a  great  fight 
that  the  Association,  as  a  body,  recognised  the 
importance  of  what  Herbert  Spencer  caUed  "  phy- 
sical morahty "  and  the  necessity  for  greater 
activity  in  the  region  of  mental  refinement, 


THE   WORK  33 

Mr.  Hodder  Williams  quotes  in  his  biography  of 
Sir  George  Williams  what  he  truly  caUs  "  two 
amazing  extracts  "  from  the  official  organ  of  the 
Association  : — 

"  We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  a 
Christian  young  man  had  better  not  compete  in 
a  swimming  match,  or  indeed  in  a  match  of  any 
kind.  The  desire  of  distinction  will  in  itself  be  a 
snare,  while  if  he  should  win  in  the  strife,  passions 
of  envy,  jealousy,  or  disappointment  may  be  en- 
gendered in  his  competitors." 

A  few  days  later  Archbishop  Trench  and  Dr.  Dale, 
of  Birmingham,  for  attending  some  Shakespearean 
celebration,  were  accused  of  having  "  trailed  their 
Christian  priesthood  in  the  dust  to  offer  homage 
at  the  shrine  of  a  dead  playwright  "  : — 

"We  see  that  Archbishop  Trench  closed  his 
discourse  at  Stratford  Church  by  referring  to  the 
correctness  of  Shakespeare's  views  on  the  cor- 
ruptness of  human  nature  and  on  the  atoning 
sacrifice  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Did  he  think 
such  matters  were  of  much  account  to  those 
who  were  about  to  join  in  idle  pageants,  theatrical 
fooleries,  and,  above  aU,  that  oratorio  of  the 
Messiah^  wherein,  as  John  Newton  once  said 
roughly  but  pointedly,  *  the  Redeemer's  agonies 
are  illustrated  on  catgut  '  ?  Masquerade  and 
sermon,  pageant  and  oratorio !  —  it  is  very 
mournful." 

Thoughtful  and  reflective  people,  acquaiated  with 
the  spirit  of  that  age,  wiU  be  able  to  find  some  excuse 


34  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

for  these  pious  opinions  ;  but  the  great,  coarse, 
hurrying  world,  so  quick  with  sneers  for  what  is 
pure  and  refined,  hears  of  them  gladly  and  with 
chuckles,  only  eager  for  an  opportunity  to  laugh 
at  goodness  and  to  ridicule  the  hfe  of  the  righteous. 

In  spite  of  noble  men  who  fought  manfuUy  in  the 
Association  against  this  pitiful  spirit  of  a  quite 
pinchbeck  puritanism,  a  certain  section  of  society 
passed  contemptuous  judgment  on  its  work  and 
made  its  members  the  target  of  their  scorn.  The 
letters  "  Y.M.C.A."  began  to  figure  in  comic  prints 
with  the  accompaniment  of  derision.  A  young 
man  who  hated  to  be  dubbed  "  milksop  "  held  aloof 
from  its  gatherings.  There  was  a  fairly  general 
feeling  that  the  Association  existed  for  the  manu- 
facture of  prigs. 

Deadly  as  was  this  impression,  George  Williams, 
and  the  best  of  the  men  supporting  him,  went 
manfully  forward  with  the  great  work,  and  continued 
to  win  young  men  by  hundreds  and  thousands. 
The  Association  became  more  manful  and  vigorous, 
more  intellectual  and  refined.  Local  branches  were 
established  throughout  the  country.  They  were 
recognised  by  Church  and  commerce  as  beneficent 
institutions.  In  spite  of  narrowness  within,  and 
ridicule  without,  the  Association  prospered. 

In  the  year  1852  George  Williams  was  in  Paris 
on  the  business  of  his  house.  He  asked  a  pastor 
if  a  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  existed  in 
the  city.  He  was  told  that  such  a  society  did  not 
and  could  not  exist  in  that  city.  Not  satisfied  by  this 
answer,  George  WiUiams  called  a  meeting,  opened  a 
subscription  list,  and  established  the  first  foreign 


THE   WORK  35 

branch  of  the  Association  in  the  City  of  Paris.  A 
commercial  traveller,  present  at  this  meeting, 
introduced  the  Association  into  Holland,  from 
whence  it  spread  to  other  European  countries.  "  In 
the  same  year  Richard  Searle,  a  young  man  from 
a  business  house  in  London,  laid  the  foundation  of 
a  flourishing  Association  in  Adelaide,  and  shortly 
afterwards  branches  were  also  started  in  Calcutta, 
in  Montreal,  in  Boston,  and  in  other  cities  in  the 
United  States."  The  Association  had  become 
within  eight  years  of  its  foundation — when  twelve 
young  men  prayed  for  it  in  a  dingy  little  upper  room 
in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard — imperial  and  inter- 
national. 

At  this  day  the  Association  claims  to  be  "  the 
greatest  Brotherhood  in  the  world — from  humble 
beginnings  in  1844  of  twelve  young  men,  with  the 
modest  expenditure  for  rent  of  2s.  6d.  weeldy,  it  has 
so  multiphed  itself  that  to-day  there  are  upwards 
of  8000  branches  in  46  countries,  with  a  membership 
of  nearly  one  miUion,  some  1300  Associations 
possessing  their  own  buildings,  valued  at  sixteen 
miUion  pounds." 

Now,  it  must  be  confessed  that  if  England  can 
give  praise  for  the  birth  of  this  wonderful  Brother- 
hood at  the  heart  of  her  kingdom,  America  is  the 
country  which  can  most  justly  claim  the  chief 
glory  of  its  present  prosperity.  For  what  England 
began  to  do  timorously  and  on  a  rather  niggardly 
scale,  America  has  done  boldly,  whole-heartedly, 
and  on  a  scale  of  confident  magnificence.  England 
is  now  about  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  is  now  about 
to  recover  her  lost  ground,  and  it  is  possible — for  so 


36  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

great  is  the  newly  awakened  enthusiasm — ^that  she 
may  even  rival  and  surpass  America.  But  it  is  only 
fair  and  right  to  say  that  the  extraordinary  genius 
of  the  American  nation  for  realising  a  good  thing,  for 
appreciating  a  splendid  opportunity,  and  for  sparing 
neither  money  nor  energy  in  a  really  great  under- 
taking, is  the  inspiration  of  the  present  enthusiasm 
in  England. 

One  of  the  foremost  workers  for  the  Association 
in  America  said  to  me  the  other  day :  "I  could 
almost  have  cried  when  I  first  came  to  England  and 
saw  how  the  Association  had  fallen  to  sleep.  I  went 
to  a  provincial  city.  It  was  evening  when  I  arrived. 
The  streets  were  crowded  with  people.  I  asked  the 
first  man  I  saw  to  direct  me  to  the  Young  Men's  Chris- 
tian Association.  He  didn't  know  it !  I  asked  another, 
and  another,  and  at  last  I  found  someone  to  tell  me. 
It  was  down  a  back  street.  The  door  stood  open. 
In  a  dark  passage  two  or  three  dirty  bicycles  leaned 
against  the  wall.  I  went  upstairs.  A  kerosene 
lamp  was  burning  in  a  dull  and  stuffy  room.  A  few 
old  papers  lay  on  the  table.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be 
heard.  The  room  was  empty.  The  whole  house 
seemed  to  be  deserted.  Well,  as  I  teU  you,  I  could 
have  cried.  Why  !  in  America,  in  a  city  of  that  size, 
the  finest  and  most  prominent  building  in  the  whole 
place  would  be  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Associa- 
tion. Not  a  soul  there  but  would  know  it.  It  would 
be  the  chief  landmark,  and  the  centre  of  the  town's 
social  and  religious  fife.  Yes,  it  is  high  time  you 
woke  up  in  England." 

America  has  seen  the  immense  possibilities  of  this 
Association.    Not  a  whit  less  insistent  than  England 


THE   WORK  37 

as  to  the  religious  basis,  it  has  developed  the  moral, 
mental,  and  physical  view-points  of  the  Association 
on  a  really  gigantic  scale.  The  buildings,  vast  and 
utihtarian  buildings,  are  hives  of  energy.  Education 
proceeds  in  numerous  class-rooms  on  almost  every 
subject  under  the  sun,  from  theology  to  chemistry  ;  a 
physical  director  is  kept  hard  at  work  with  squads 
of  athletes  in  the  gymnasium  ;  there  are  swimming- 
baths,  shower-baths,  fives-courts,  running- tracks, 
and  rifle  ranges ;  biUiard-rooms,  and  music-rooms  are 
provided  on  a  handsome  scale ;  nothing  innocent 
and  healthy  is  excluded  from  one  of  these  huge 
clubs,  where  classes  for  study  of  the  Bible  are  not 
less  well  attended  than  the  gymnasium  and  the  swim- 
ming-bath. 

But  the  reader  will  learn  in  a  subsequent  chapter 
of  this  book  how  entirely  England  has  been  out- 
paced by  America  in  the  matter  of  developing  Sir 
George  WiUiams's  great  idea  of  associating  young 
men  in  a  society  for  reHgious  and  intellectual 
improvement.  For  the  present  I  would  attempt 
to  show  how  wide  and  considerable  is  the  influence 
for  good  exercised  by  the  Association  in  England 
even  in  its  present  condition,  and  how  stimulating 
and  boundless  are  the  possibilities  now  presented 
to  our  vision  in  the  awakening  of  this  EngHsh 
Association  to  the  immense  field  of  action  which 
hterally  clamours  for  its  activity. 

The  influence  of  the  Association  has  long  per- 
meated our  commercial  life.  Just  as  the  early- 
closing  movement,  now  universal,  owes  its  success 
to  the  brilliant  thought  and  courageous  energy  of 
the  Association's  founder,   so  does  the  provision 


38  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

now  made  in  most  of  the  big  business  houses  for  the 
comfort  and  well-being  of  their  servants  have  its 
spring  and  origin  in  the  example  of  the  Association. 
The  indirect  influence  of  this  Brotherhood,  the 
more  one  studies  its  history  and  the  concurrent 
history  of  the  nation's  trade,  is  seen  to  be  amazing. 
One  might  almost  say  that  the  humanitarian  spirit 
which  now  characterises  so  many  of  the  largest 
shops  and  warehouses  and  factories  of  England  had 
its  sole  birth  in  the  quickening  impulse  of  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association. 

Perhaps  the  general  pubHc  is  not  aware  of  the 
rehgious  spirit  which  works  behind  the  scenes  of 
material  commerce,  the  rehgious  spirit  which  is 
busy  with  the  souls  of  men  even  in  the  midst  of 
London's  ceaseless  trade.  It  may  be  weU,  therefore, 
if  I  give  a  brief  account  of  the  inner  life  of  one 
estabhshment  in  London,  where  a  most  prosperous 
rehgious  activity  keeps  pace  with  an  increasingly 
successful  trade,  where  the  whole  immense  volume 
of  material  activity  is  consecrated  by  a  spiritual 
influence.  In  this  particular  case  the  entire  char- 
acter of  the  religious  life  is  directly  due,  not  indirectly 
traceable,  to  the  work  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association. 

To  begin  with,  aU  the  young  people  employed 
by  this  firm,  if  they  have  no  relations  in  London, 
are,  with  very  few  exceptions,  boarded  and  housed 
in  lodges  of  a  most  comfortable  order.  These 
lodges  contain  from  thirty  to  sixty  individuals,  who 
are  subjected  to  the  same  rules  that  obtain  at 
universities,  with  the  exception  that  they  are 
allowed  to  go  out  at  night  until  11.15  and,  for  one 


THE   WORK  39 

night  a  week,  until  12  o'clock.  The  dormitories  and 
smaller  bedrooms  are  comfortable  and  well  venti- 
lated ;  the  furniture  is  good  ;  the  whole  atmosphere 
is  refined  and  civilismg.  In  each  lodge  there  are  a 
room  for  games,  a  writing-room,  a  smoking-room, 
and  a  music-room. 

The  rehgious  welfare  of  this  great  concern  is 
superintended  by  a  chaplain,  who  reads  morning 
praj^ers  every  day  of  the  week,  and  by  a  missionarj^ 
society  among  the  staff  of  the  estabHshment.  This 
society,  which  holds  prayer  meetings  and  Bible 
classes  every  week,  held  its  seventy-first  annual 
meeting  last  year,  and  for  many  years  has  con- 
tributed from  £120  to  £160  annuaUy  towards  mission 
work. 

The  firm  has  its  own  sports  ground.  It  has 
cricket,  football,  hockey,  bowls,  lawn  tennis  and 
other  outdoor  clubs.  On  the  Saturday  of  the 
week  in  which  I  visited  the  estabhshment  eight 
football  and  two  hockey  teams  were  engaged  in 
matches.  In  addition  to  these  sports  and  games, 
the  firm  possesses  a  miniature  rifle-range  ;  and  in 
order  to  teach  its  young  people  the  duties  of 
citizenship,  and  to  encourage  a  national  spirit, 
it  gives  an  extra  week's  hohday  on  full  pay  every 
year  to  each  man  who  becomes  a  Territorial  and 
goes  to  camp. 

A  quahfied  medical  man  is  employed  to  attend 
the  sick,  and  no  one  loses  wages  through  ilhiess. 
Where  a  young  man  has  no  place  to  go  to  for 
recuperation,  he  is  sent  to  a  Convalescent  Home 
at  the  firm's  expense. 

The  social  side  of  the  firm's  life  is  provided  for  by 


40  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

a  library  committee,  which  arranges  entertainments 
and  lectures  throughout  the  winter  season,  and 
by  an  Eclectic  Association  which  provides  for  im- 
promptu speeches,  discussions,  set  debates,  and 
lantern  lectures.  Draughts  and  chess  clubs  are 
popular,  and  a  rambhng  club  has  devoted  members 
who  prefer  long  and  philosophic  walks  to  violent 
exercise  in  the  form  of  athletics. 

Educational  work  is  steadily  maintained  through- 
out the  autumn,  the  winter,  and  early  spring. 
Classes  are  held  for  elocution,  composition,  French, 
singing,  and  even  for  ambulance  work. 

To  encourage  thrift,  the  members  of  the  staff 
are  allowed  to  deposit  with  the  firm  the  savings  of 
their  salaries  at  5  per  cent  interest.  Coal  and  other 
clubs  are  arranged  for  the  benefit  of  married  men. 

From  this  necessarily  brief  and  hurried  statement, 
the  reader  will  perceive  how  very  great  is  the  change 
which  has  come  over  the  commercial  fife  of  England 
since  the  formation  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association.  At  that  time  uncarpeted  and  never- 
dusted  rooms  at  the  top  of  the  warehouse  served 
for  dormitories  ;  men  slept  two  in  a  bed  ;  half  an 
hour  served  for  the  three  wretched  meals  of  the  day  ; 
and  in  almost  every  single  warehouse  nothing  was 
done  either  for  the  physical  or  moral  weKare  of  the 
staff. 

Three  reflections  will  suggest  themselves  to  the 
mind  of  a  man  who  quietly  considers  the  accoimt 
I  have  just  furnished  of  this  firm's  conscientious 
regard  for  the  welfare  of  its  staff.  First,  the  miracle 
— ^the  miracle  that  all  this  benefit  has  flowed  from 
the  thought  of  a  youth  who  came  from  Devonshire 


THE   WORK  41 

to  London  less  than  a  hundred  years  ago  in  search 
of  humble  employment.  No  man  can  fail  to  be 
struck,  if  he  patiently  considers  the  immense 
change  in  pubHc  opinion,  by  the  miracle  of  this 
single  life,  the  hfe  of  a  friendless  and  almost  penniless 
youth,  which  by  prayer  and  earnest  faith  in  God 
became  one  of  the  very  greatest  powers  in  the 
evolution  of  the  commercial  conscience. 

Second,  the  interest  of  modern  life  when  we  get 
behind  the  apparent  and  the  exterior,  and  explore  the 
inner  workings  of  even  that  which  appears  at  first 
sight  an  entirely  material  undertaking.  Is  it  not 
interesting  to  reflect  that  within  the  grim  and 
crowded  warehouses  of  London  there  is  an  organised 
religious  hfe  permeating  everything  ? — a  hfe  in 
which  men  seek  to  help  each  other,  to  be  kind  to 
one  another,  to  improve  and  develop  both  their 
minds  and  bodies,  to  understand  the  evolving 
revelation  of  Almighty  God,  and  to  hasten  the 
Kingdom  of  Christ  by  prayer  and  supphcation. 
Does  not  this  thought  at  once  deepen  and  intensify 
our  interest  in  hfe  ? — does  it  not  draw  us,  as  it  were, 
a  httle  closer  to  the  heart  of  humanity  ? — are  we 
not  aware,  as  we  reflect  upon  the  spiritual  life  of  a 
London  warehouse,  of  some  invisible,  mystic,  and 
overshadowing  spirit  which  transcends  the  whole 
orb  of  physical  existence  as  our  own  individual 
soul  transcends  the  operations  of  the  body  ? 

And  finally,  the  reflection  arises  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  trace  the  beneficent  influences  which 
flow  from  the  operations  of  organised  goodness, 
and  that  to  count  heads  in  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association,  to  number  international  branches,  and 


42  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

to  estimate  the  capital  value  of  their  buildings,  is 
by  no  means  to  exhaust  the  catalogue  of  blessings 
which  have  come  to  humanity  from  the  idea  of 
Sir  George  WiUiams. 

From  this  final  reflection  emerges  another  thought. 
If  the  beneficent  effect  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association  has  been  so  general,  and  the  estabhsh- 
ment  of  which  I  have  given  an  account  is  only  one 
of  many  which  now  conduct  their  business  with  a 
genuine  rehgious  inspiration  at  the  back  of  their 
machinery — is  there  any  longer  need  of  the  Associa- 
tion as  a  separate  and  amalgamating  institution  ? — 
has  it  not,  by  the  force  of  its  own  influence,  destroyed 
the  reason  for  its  existence  ? 

The  backward  condition  of  the  Association  in 
England,  as  compared  with  America  and  Australasia, 
is  due  far  more  to  this  awakening  of  the  moral 
conscience  among  the  great  London  firms  than  to 
any  previous  narrowness  on  the  part  of  its  organisers. 
In  a  great  measure  one  may  say  that  the  principal 
firms  of  London  now  offer  their  servants  advan- 
tages and  boons  which  are  beyond  the  means  of 
the  Association  to  provide  for  its  members.  But 
the  need  for  the  Association  has  become  even 
greater  than  before,  and  it  is  the  realisation  of  this 
tremendous  need  that  is  now  inspiring  the  devoted 
men  at  the  head  of  the  English  Association  to  a 
great  forward  movement. 

The  reader  will  easily  perceive  that  the  need  for 
the  Association  has  increased  rather  than  decreased 
with  the  philanthropic  efforts  of  the  great  London 
firms,  when  it  is  pointed  out  that  the  very  success 
of  these  large  houses  renders  the  struggle  of  the 


THE   WORK  43 

small  employer  to  keep  head  above  water  more 
and  more  difficult,  so  that  it  is  wholly  impossible 
for  him  to  devote  either  time  or  money  to  the  social 
and  moral  welfare  of  his  servants.  There  are  in 
London  and  throughout  the  provinces  innumerable 
warehouses  and  factori-es  where  nothing  of  a  saving 
character  is  done  for  the  staff  ;  and  in  addition 
to  these  small  and  struggHng  warehouses  and 
factories  there  exist  a  vast  number  of  offices  in 
which  it  has  never  been  the  fashion  of  the  employers 
to  interest  themselves  in  the  moral  and  spiritual 
life  of  their  clerks.  To  leave  this  huge  army  of  young 
men,  the  great  majority  of  whom  live  in  lodgings — 
like  beasts  of  the  field,  as  Stevenson  would  say — to 
leave  them  with  no  provision  for  cultivating  those 
mystic  quaHties  which  alone  can  give  a  logical 
interpretation  to  the  fierce  struggle  for  existence, 
to  leave  them  entirely  unguarded  from  the  tempta- 
tions of  London  streets,  to  leave  them  with  nothing 
in  fife  beyond  the  office  desk  and  the  back  bedroom 
of  a  suburban  lodging-house — this  is  to  commit  a 
most  signal  offence  against  the  law  of  Christian 
brotherhood,  and  to  leave  undone  one  of  the  first 
and  most  urgent  things  every  intelligent  man  should 
do,  both  as  patriot  and  humanitarian.  The  young 
and  lonely  men  of  London  are  said  to  number 
800,000 — a  host  which  exceeds  the  whole  population 
of  the  next  greatest  city  to  the  metropoHs — and  it  is 
a  wild  thought  that  so  vast  an  army  can  be  ade- 
quately guarded  from  temptation  by  the  philan- 
thropic enterprise  of  a  few  of  the  largest  firms — 
an  enterprise  entirely  restricted,  of  course,  to  their 
own  employes. 


44  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

And  the  welfare  of  these  young  men  is  a  matter 
of  considerable  importance  even  when  religion  is  left 
out  of  count.  For  the  most  part  they  leave  school 
and  coUege,  or  come  up  from  towns  and  villages  in 
the  country,  with  their  innocence  but  Uttle  soiled, 
their  tenderness  and  gentleness  but  Uttle  hardened. 
And  they  find  themselves  free  and  untrammelled — 
to  aU  intents  and  purposes  their  own  masters — ^in 
a  city  where  gross,  horrible,  and  revolting  forms  of 
vice  are  pubhcly  paraded  in  the  most  fashionable 
and  popular  streets,  and  where  the  guardians  of  law 
and  order  look  on  as  if  this  violation  of  purity  and 
virtue  were  a  thing  of  no  account. 

It  is  not  only  that  quite  young  girls  are  there, 
pubhcly  walking  the  streets,  but  that  they  are 
there  unashamed.  These  young  men  from  clean 
and  virtuous  homes  see  something  far  worse  than 
vice  ;  they  see,  naked  to  their  eyes,  the  immodesty 
of  a  fallen  soul.  They  see  vice  laughing  and  tri- 
umphant. They  see  girls,  who  have  thrown  their 
very  chastity  away  like  a  toy  of  childhood,  walking 
the  streets  of  the  town  without  one  sigh,  without  one 
tear,  even  without  one  blush.  They  are  staggered. 
They  are  shocked.  Their  inmost  soul  revolts 
against  this  pubhc  desecration  of  virtue  and  modesty. 
But  they  are  spellbound.  They  are  fascinated. 
They  become  curious.  And  unless  their  souls  are 
strong,  they  fall.  They  become  one  of  the  crowd 
that  goes  by,  laughing  and  unashamed. 

On  every  side  of  them  are  taverns,  wine-bars, 
theatres,  music-halls.  A  thousand  doors  to  bright 
interiors  stand  open  for  them.  The  day  has  been 
long  and  hard.    If  they  go  home  there  is  only  a  dull 


THE   WORK  45 

bedroom,  a  gas-jet,  and  a  grubby  chair.  Is  it 
wonderful  that  they  feel  the  magic  of  the  streets, 
that  they  glance  in  at  those  open  doors,  that  they 
are  conscious  of  an  incHnation  not  to  struggle  any 
longer,  no  longer  to  aspire  ? 

The  more  I  see  of  London  the  greater  grows 
my  amazement  that  there  is  so  much  virtue, 
goodness,  sobriety  among  the  youth  of  the  city. 
For  in  London  vice  is  not  of  the  back  street  and 
among  the  disreputable,  but  in  the  very  centre  of 
the  city's  existence,  and  among  the  most  splendid 
and  fashionable  of  the  inhabitants.  In  a  village, 
in  a  smaU  town,  even  in  an  average  provincial  city, 
vice  has  its  own  deplorable  quarter,  and  its  guilty 
votaries  steal  there,  with  fear  of  being  observed. 
But  in  London  the  most  central  music-halls,  the 
most  central  streets,  the  most  central  taverns  are  in 
the  frank  and  challenging  possession  of  iniquity. 
The  men  who  crowd  these  places  are  not  the  shabby 
and  disreputable,  but  apparently  the  prosperous, 
the  fashionable,  and  the  respectable.  Vice  is  not  a 
thing  of  which  the  city  is  ashamed,  but  apparently 
the  very  heart  of  its  nightly  pleasure.  Sin  is  not 
a  thing  from  which  humanity  is  strugghng  to  Hberate 
itself,  but  apparently  the  single  occupation  of  its 
leisure.  Until  a  man  has  talked  with  a  youth 
who  came  pure  to  London,  he  cannot  know  how 
terrible  and  destructive  is  the  shock  of  London's 
pubhc  and  triumphant  shame. 

Happily,  such  a  Brotherhood  as  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  exists  to  protect  modesty, 
innocence,  and  purity — which  the  State  leaves 
absolutely  alone  to  shift  for  themselves — from  the 


46  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

carnival  of  the  midnight  streets.  And  still  more 
happily,  the  Central  Association  in  London  has  at 
length  awakened  to  the  necessity  of  a  much  more 
vigorous  and  splendid  crusade  against  iniquity 
than  anything  which  has  hitherto  been  attempted. 
Great  and  wonderful  work  it  has  already  accom- 
plished— as  the  narratives  that  follow  will  help 
to  show — but  much  greater  and  more  wonderful 
confronts  it  now.  I  believe  that  with  the  active 
and  generous  support  of  London's  wealthy  citizens, 
the  Association  in  England  will  become  as  potent  a 
force  for  righteousness,  as  triumphant  against  vice 
and  wickedness  as  the  vigorous  branches  in  America 
and  Australia.  That  this  is  a  very  great  claim  to 
make,  let  the  following  incident  suffice  to  prove. 

At  the  time  when  the  United  States  set  about 
their  gigantic  task  of  cutting  the  Panama  Canal, 
it  was  felt  by  the  Cabinet  that  some  provision  should 
be  made  for  the  social  and  moral  welfare  of  the 
25,000  white  men  employed  in  the  operations. 
The  climate  of  the  Panama  Zone,  the  activity  of 
the  saloon-keepers,  and  the  energy  displayed  by  the 
agents  of  iniquity  made  it  necessary  for  the  State  to 
interfere  on  the  side  of  righteousness.  Accordingly, 
great  club-houses  were  erected  at  considerable  cost, 
in  which  the  white  men  were  invited  to  take  their 
ease  and  spend  profitably  the  hours  of  their  leisure. 
But  the  saloons  remained  full,  the  clubs  were 
deserted.  Then  Mr.  Roosevelt,  one  of  the  most 
enthusiastic  supporters  of  the  Association,  suggested 
to  his  Cabinet  that  these  houses,  adequately 
financed  by  the  State,  should  be  handed  over  to  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association.  Some  misgiving, 


THE   WORK  47 

I  believe,  was  expressed  as  to  the  consequences  of 
such  a  step — the  jealousy  of  other  organisations, 
the  demands  likely  to  be  made  on  the  State  by 
missionary  societies,  etc. — but  Mr.  Roosevelt  held 
to  his  course  and  carried  the  Cabinet  with  him. 
They  all  knew  that  the  Association  in  America  is 
"  a  real  thing."  And  now  those  great  buildings  in 
the  Panama  Zone  are  crowded  from  base  to  roof 
with  a  strong  and  virile  manhood,  the  saloons  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  are  deserted,  the  agents 
of  iniquity  have  packed  their  bags  and  departed. 
Such  is  the  force,  the  power,  and  the  irresistible 
efficieiicy  of  the  Association  in  America.  And  such, 
also,  is  its  reputation  with  Government. 

That  a  similar  destiny  awaits  the  Association  in 
England  one  cannot  doubt.  For  not  only  has  a 
wholly  adequate  and  really  magnificent  head- 
quarters at  last  been  erected  in  London,  but  a 
hard-headed  and  sensible  man  likely  to  drive 
the  Association  forward  by  the  force  of  his 
own  ringing  enthusiasm  has  been  called  from 
AustraHa  to  direct  the  new  campaign,  and  is 
confident  of  victory.  Mr.  J.  J.  Virgo  brings  to  the 
Mother  Country  the  freshness,  the  energy,  the 
courage,  and  the  exuberance  of  spirit  which  as  much 
characterise  the  Britons  beyond  the  seas  as  the 
United  States  of  America.  He  is  a  man  whom 
neither  our  tragic  snobbery  can  daunt,  nor  our  ice- 
cold  aversion  from  enthusiasm  can  chill.  He  knows 
what  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  is  in 
AustraHa,  in  Canada,  and  in  the  United  States; 
and,  better  still,  he  knows  what  has  made  it  a 
recognised  force  in  the  national  life  of  those  coun- 


48  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

tries.  The  same  methods  which  he  employed  so 
successfully  in  Australia  will  be  employed  here, 
and  unless  the  wealthy  men  of  England  are  behind 
their  kinsmen  across  the  sea  in  patriotism,  in 
humanity,  and  in  a  sense  of  responsibihty  to  God, 
those  methods  will  assuredly  make  the  Association 
here  a  force  of  equal  magnitude  in  the  national  Hfe. 

An  orthodox  Jew,  in  giving  £10  to  the  palace  now 
erected  in  Tottenham  Court  Road,  as  the  Associa- 
tion's memorial  to  Sir  George  Williams,  said  that 
though  he  remained  a  Jew  he  should  like  to  feel 
that  he  had  helped  to  put  a  few  bricks  and  a  Httle 
mortar  into  so  noble  a  factory  for  the  making  of 
Character.  This  is  Mr.  Virgo's  central  enthusiasm — 
the  Association  makes  men.  He  feels  that  the  making 
of  Character  is  the  greatest  work  to  which  a  man  can 
set  his  hand,  and  if  he  thought  the  Association 
manufactured  prigs  and  milksops  he  would  be  the 
first  man  to  laugh  it  out  of  our  imperial  existence. 
But  he  knows  that  this  fault,  if  it  ever  existed  in  any 
considerable  degree,  has  now  entirely  passed  away. 
The  Association  stands  for  the  development  of  the 
whole  man — body,  mind,  and  spirit.  It  exists  to 
make  men  physically  wholesome,  mentally  efficient, 
and  spiritually  strong.  It  does  not  develop  only  one 
side  of  a  man's  character,  and  leave  the  rest  to  shift 
for  itself,  to  decay,  to  become  corrupt,  to  atrophy. 
It  holds  that  no  one  side  can  be  developed  alone 
without  tajury  to  the  rest.  And  it  holds  the  faith 
that  the  future  of  the  race,  and  the  future  of  the 
British  Empire — which  carries  so  much  of  the 
welfare  of  other  nations — must  depend  upon  the 
training  of  the  young  men  throughout  the  whole 


THE   WORK  49 

of  the  King's  dominions  in  physical,  mental,  and 
spiritual  efficiency. 

In  discussing  this  question  with  me  for  the  first 
time,  Mr.  Virgo  constantly  made  use  of  a  single 
phrase  which  I  have  since  found  out  is  the  spring  of 
his  optimism,  if  it  is  not  the  foundation  of  his  en- 
thusiasm. This  phrase  was,  "  The  scope  is  bound- 
less." While  some  people  in  England  were  inclined 
to  say  "  We  have  come  to  the  end  of  our  furrow," 
this  AustraUan  was  standing  on  a  hill-top  and  per- 
ceiving with  glad  eyes  that  "  the  scope  is  boundless." 

"When  a  man  sees,  really  sees,  without  any  mis- 
take about  it,"  he  said  to  me,  "  that  the  scope  of  his 
work  is  boundless,  absolutely  boundless,  he  isn't 
Ukely  to  sit  still  whittUng  a  stick.  And  it  is  bound- 
less. Think  what  it  means,  first  of  all,  from  a 
national  point  of  view.  No  one  who  is  not  out  of  his 
senses  will  deny  that  a  sober,  virtuous,  and  athletic 
people  are  essential  to  a  nation's  greatness.  A 
nation  cannot  be  great  where  young  men  are 
abandoned  to  intemperance,  gambling,  vice,  and 
slothful  lounging.  The  competition  is  too  keen. 
The  stress  of  fife  is  too  severe.  The  other  fellow 
won't  let  you  !  An  immoral  nation  goes  under, 
sooner  or  later.  But  a  nation,  on  the  other  hand, 
composed  of  vigorous,  intelhgent,  healthy,  and 
moral  people — no  matter  how  old  its  history  or  how 
enormous  its  heritage — stands,  sure  and  steady, 
against  every  attack  ;  nothing  can  destroy  it.  Ask 
an  employer  of  labour  whether  he  would  rather  have 
sober  or  drunken  workpeople,  whether  he  finds 
an  earnest,  athletic,  and  virtuous  clerk  more 
profitable  than  a  little,  white-faced,  cynical  ninny 


50  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

or  a  lounging,  lisping  masher  !  Ask  the  doctors,  ask 
the  eugenists  !  But,  of  course,  the  thing  is  obvious. 
The  only  serious  point  of  the  matter  is  this,  that 
the  nation  does  not  seem  to  reahse,  as  a  nation, 
how  important,  how  essentially  and  tremendously 
important  to  its  whole  general  welfare,  is  the 
morahty  and  purity  of  its  young  people  at  the  start. 
One  does  not  seem  to  feel  in  England — at  least 
I  do  not  feel  it  at  present — that  the  whole  nation 
is  convinced  heart  and  soul  of  this  importance. 
But  what  an  England  it  will  be — my  word,  what  an 
England ! — when  the  nation  does  realise  that 
morality  is  its  first  concern,  and  does  set  itself, 
this  great  and  splendid  England,  to  the  manufacture 
of  men !  In  that  day  you  will  not  only  get  rid  of 
the  scandal  of  'the  remittance  man,'  so  injurious 
to  England  throughout  the  colonies,  but  you  wiU 
have  in  England  itself  a  manhood  worthy  of  the 
heart  of  the  empire. 

"  Then,  think  what  it  means  from  an  imperial 
point  of  view.  What  ties  are  the  strongest  ?  Are 
they  commercial  ?  Is  a  man  more  closely  aUied 
with  his  tradesmen  than  with  those  whom  he  loves, 
whether  they  serve  him  or  not  ?  Surely  affection  is 
the  strongest  and  most  unifying  of  all  human  bonds. 
And  what  is  the  rock  foundation  of  affection  ?  Is 
it  not  a  moral  enthusiasm,  a  fervour  of  rehgious 
ideahsm  ?  Throughout  AustraHa  and  Canada  you 
have  an  immense  organisation  hnked  to  a  similar 
organisation  in  England  and  waiting  to  develop 
itself  on  imperial  hnes.  That  organisation  is 
religious.  It  is  concerned  with  the  manufacture  of 
men.    It  desires  above  everything  else  to  feel  itself 


THE   WORK  51 

at  unity  with  a  triumphant  body  in  the  Mother 
Country.  It  seeks  to  make  the  empire  such  a 
power  as  the  world  has  never  known — an  empire  of 
Christian  manhood.  A  great  awakening  in  England 
would  be  felt  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  this  empire. 
It  would  quicken  the  whole  fabric  of  British  exist- 
ence. For  there  is  nothing  Hke  religious  enthusiasm  ; 
it  does  not  matter  how  far  off  or  how  sundered  our 
race  may  be,  if  they  feel  that  they  are  one  in  religious 
spirit,  that  they  are  one  in  a  subhme  rehgious  idea], 
they  will  be  a  single  people  and  a  single  nation. 
Responsibihty  ties  us  together  ;  enthusiasm  for  a 
great  destiny  makes  us  literally  one  people.  Our 
scope  is  boundless. 

"  One  of  the  big  things  which  lie  before  the 
Association  is  the  work  of  emigration.  We  seek 
to  send  more  and  more  men  from  England  to 
religious  houses  in  the  colonies,  and  to  bring  from 
the  colonies  into  England  some  of  the  best  and  most 
go-ahead  of  their  enthusiastic  manhood.  Again  I 
say,  the  scope  is  boundless.  England,  I  think, 
neither  realises  how  deeply  she  is  loved  in  the 
colonies,  nor  how  earnest  are  the  colonies  for  a 
rehgious  unity  with  the  Mother  Country.  Think 
what  it  will  mean  when  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association  is  the  great  central  labour  exchange  of 
the  whole  empire,  and  when  our  conferences  are 
held,  with  delegates  from  every  nation,  in  aU  the 
countries  of  the  British  Commonwealth  ! 

"  There  is  one  other  point  for  England  to  consider. 
The  most  prosperous  branch  of  the  Association  is 
in  the  United  States  and  Canada.  The  prospect  is 
not   only   imperial,   but   international.     The   ideal 


52  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

before  our  eyes  is  one  of  Anglo-Saxon  unity. 
Through  the  Association,  more  easily  than  any  other 
agency,  can  this  great  unity  of  the  race  be  achieved. 
America,  according  to  some  of  your  newspapers, 
is  composed  only  of  a  greedy  and  grasping  com- 
mercial people  ;  but  in  truth  it  is,  I  really  beheve, 
the  most  religious  nation  under  heaven.  The 
religious  life  in  America  has  its  aberrations  and 
extravagances,  but  at  bottom  it  is  deep,  manful, 
and  enthusiastic  with  a  most  splendid  common  sense. 
If  England  desires  the  friendship  of  America,  she 
will  not  leave  the  matter  to  her  statesmen  and 
diplomatists,  but  will  herself  propose  a  union  for 
moral,  philanthropic,  and  rehgious  ideahsm.  She 
cannot,  in  fact,  too  frequently  remind  America  that 
the  supreme  object  of  her  existence  is  the  Kingdom 
of  God,  or  too  warmly  invite  the  American  nation 
to  co-operate  with  her  in  achieving  this  ideal.  And 
the  Association,  firm-fixed  and  universally  extended 
throughout  the  States,  is  the  best  organisation 
for  this  cordial  co-operation  in  a  spiritual  destiny. 
Yes,  the  scope  is  boundless.  A  moral,  manful, 
and  rehgious  England  linked  up  with  a  moral, 
manful,  and  rehgious  empire  is  a  great  and  glorious 
thought ;  but  greater  and  more  glorious  is  the 
equally  possible  consummation  of  a  moral,  manful, 
and  rehgious  British  Empire  hnked  up  with  a  moral, 
manful,  and  rehgious  America  for  the  peace  of 
the  world,  the  blessing  of  humanity,  and  the  glory 
of  God.  It  is  not  a  dream  ;  it  is  an  eminently 
practical  possibihty.  Wherever  an  EngMsh  member 
of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  goes  in 
the  colonies  or  in  America  he  makes  straight  for  the 


THE   WORK  53 

head-quarters  of  the  Association,  and  there  he  finds 
not  only  kindness  and  hospitahty,  but  a  genuine 
eagerness  to  serve  him  in  finding  useful  work.  It 
is  not  a  question  of  a  foreign  country,  or  a  scattered 
empire  ;  he  feels  himself  one  of  a  consecrated 
Anglo-Saxon  brotherhood." 

The  comprehensiveness  of  the  Association  is 
witnessed  by  the  provision  made  in  Tottenham  Court 
Road  for  physical  and  mental  culture.  On  the  upper 
floors  one  sees  an  endless  succession  of  class-rooms, 
where  the  young  men  of  London  will  be  able  to 
get  the  very  best  instruction  in  every  subject  of 
commercial  education.  This  is  a  branch  of  activity 
which  the  American  Association  has  brought  to  the 
highest  pitch  of  perfection.  It  was  long  ago 
recognised  in  America  that  mental  efficiency  is  not 
only  necessary  to  commercial  success,  but  valuable 
to  spiritual  culture.  The  educational  classes  in 
America  are  perhaps  the  most  flourishing  depart- 
ment of  the  Association's  work,  and  they  are  to  be 
equally  successful  in  England,  if  enthusiasm  and 
thoroughness  can  make  them  so. 

Just  as  an  expert  in  education  has  been  carefully 
chosen  for  the  new  London  head-quarters,  so  an 
expert  has  been  as  carefuUy  engaged  for  the  Associa- 
tion's work  in  physical  culture.  The  gymnasium 
will  be  a  serious  business,  and  not  a  mere  playground 
for  senseless  antics  and  unprofitable  tomfooleries. 
There  will  be  regular  courses  of  instruction,  and 
classes  for  every  form  of  drill  and  athletic  exercise. 
In  addition  to  the  gymnasium,  the  head-quarters 
possesses  a  swimming-bath,  shower-baths,  a  minia- 
ture rifle-range,  and  a  room  for  fencing  and  boxing. 


54  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

There  are  something  Hke  two  hundred  bedrooms 
in  this  beautiful  building,  where  a  young  man  can 
lodge  as  cheaply  as  three  and  sixpence  a  week.  The 
restaurants  are  on  a  most  elaborate  scale.  The  cook- 
ing is  to  be  as  good  as  the  money  of  the  Association 
can  make  it. 

Besides  the  usual  attractions  of  a  club,  the 
Association  provides  a  lecture  theatre,  a  music- 
room,  a  wonderful  range  of  dark-rooms  for  the 
developing  of  photographs,  quiet  rooms  for  private 
study,  and  a  bureau  of  inquiry  as  regards  emigration 
and  employment. 

But  not  less  thorough  is  the  organisation  for 
entirely  rehgious  purposes.  There  are  rooms  set 
apart  for  the  study  of  the  Bible,  and  the  best  men 
possible  wiU  help  in  the  work  of  directing  religious 
enthusiasm  into  the  most  useful  channels.  A 
missionary  earnestness  wUl  characterise  the  whole 
hfe  of  this  vast  estabhshment.  Pubhc  meetings  of 
a  religious  nature  will  be  constantly  held  in  the 
auditorium.  Men  from  aU  the  churches  will  compose 
the  membership,  and  sectarianism  will  be  entirely 
obhterated  by  the  single  and  central  ambition  to 
make  right  reason  and  the  Will  of  God  prevail  in 
the  hfe  of  the  metropohs. 

To  this  great  and  noble  condition  has  the  Associa- 
tion now  come  in  London,  and  before  the  closing 
of  this  chapter,  and  passing  to  some  remarkable 
narratives  of  rehgious  experience,  I  would  invite 
the  reader  to  consider  the  urgent  need  for  multiply- 
ing such  buildings  as  the  London  head-quarters 
throughout  the  capital  city,  the  suburbs,  and  the 
provinces. 


THE   WORK  55 

The  very  best  safeguard  for  a  young  man's  virtue 
and  honesty  is  association  with  virtuous  and  honest 
men.  Too  poor  to  do  anything  but  take  a  miserable 
room  in  a  back  street,  and  with  Httle  else  to  do  in 
his  spare  time  but  wander  aimlessly  through  the 
town,  the  average  young  man  who  comes  to  London 
for  employment  falls  first  into  sin,  then  into  a  mood 
of  bitterness  and  depression,  and  finally  passes  to 
a  careless  acquiescence  in  the  general  fife  of  the 
irreligious  community.  Neither  wholly  good  nor 
wholly  bad,  he  drifts  with  the  tide  of  indifference 
and  becomes  a  feeble  creature,  as  unprofitable 
to  the  State  as  useless  to  the  purposes  of  God. 

But  such  a  young  man,  lodged  and  boarded  in  a 
splendid  hou.se,  surrounded  on  every  side  by  the 
bracing  influences  of  moraHty,  encouraged  by  those 
who  share  this  club-life  to  develop  his  bodily  powers, 
to  educate  himself  as  a  rational  being,  and  to 
address  his  imagination  and  the  thoughts  of  his 
heart  to  the  great  God  of  the  Universe,  becomes 
a  man  to  whom  the  streets  offer  no  temptation, 
and  one  whose  fife  may  grow  to  be  a  blessing  to  his 
fellow-men.  He  is  definitely  associated  with  good- 
ness ;  not  sohtary  and  aimless  in  the  midst  of  a 
city  loud  with  senseless  pleasure  and  bold  with 
shameless  depravity.  He  is  one  in  a  moral  army, 
a  unit  in  a  spiritual  force,  a  comrade  in  a  clean 
and  rejoicing  brotherhood.  Such  a  lot  is  as 
certain  for  righteousness  as  the  other  is  certain 
for  ruin. 

Now,  this  is  the  thought  I  would  leave  in  the 
reader's  mind.  Young  men  do  not  usually  go  to 
their  ruin  with  gladness  and  determinate  purpose. 


56  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

They  fall  into  sin.  And  they  do  not  keep  away  from 
the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  because 
they  dishke  and  deny  such  an  organisation,  but 
because  the  Association  has  neither  the  room  nor 
the  equipment  to  receive  them.  If  such  a  building 
as  the  head-quarters  in  Tottenham  Court  Road  were 
erected  twenty  and  thirty  times  in  London,  it  would 
fill  itself  with  a  host  of  young  men  eager  for  its 
club-Mfe,  its  educational  and  physical  advantages, 
and  the  pleasures  and  refinements  of  its  friendships. 
Such  is  the  state  of  things  in  America.  There  is 
no  reason  in  the  world  to  imagine  that  such  a  state  of 
things  cannot  exist  in  England. 

If,  then,  young  men  perish  for  want  of  moral 
companionships,  and  if  they  are  ready  for  such 
a  Hfe  as  the  Association  provides,  ought  we  not  to 
make  it  the  immediate  business  of  our  Christian 
brotherhood  to  set  up  these  hostels  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  England  ? 

Think  how  frightfully  the  soHtary  man  is  exposed 
to  temptation  in  London  !  Can  you  expect  him  to 
go  from  his  office  or  his  warehouse  to  a  Httle  dingy 
viUa  in  the  suburbs  or  to  a  hole-and-corner  habitation 
of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  as  dark 
and  melancholy  and  depressing  as  his  own  lodgings  ? 
There  are  some  people  who  appear  to  think  that 
when  they  have  provided  a  young  man  with  a  back 
room,  a  Bible,  and  a  text  for  the  wall,  it  is  his  own 
deliberate  fault  if  he  goes  with  the  crowd.  But  is 
this,  indeed,  our  whole  duty  to  the  solitary  and 
friendless  young  man  at  the  most  critical  hour  of 
his  career  ?  Are  we  quite  certain  that  we  have 
done   for   him   all  that  God  would  have  us  do  ? 


THE  WORK  67 

Have  we  shown  him  personal  love  and  personal 
kindness  ? 

Even  more  than  this,  I  venture  to  ask  religious 
people  whether  they  can  say  on  their  conscience  that 
it  would  be  wholly  good  for  a  young  man  employed 
all  day  in  shop  or  factory  to  spend  his  evenings  in  a 
gas-lighted  room  reading  the  Bible  or  praying  to 
God  to  save  the  world  ?  Is  it  not  certain  that  such 
a  man  would  become  morbid,  feeble,  degenerate, 
and  useless  ?  Is  it  not  certain,  on  the  other  hand, 
that  the  more  his  muscles  are  braced  by  healthy 
exercise,  the  more  his  brain  is  developed  by  rational 
education,  and  the  more  his  mind  is  refined  by 
the  companionship  of  cultured  people  in  his  own 
class,  the  more  readily  and  usefully  wiU  his  soul 
respond  to  the  call  of  God,  and  the  more  worthily 
wiU  he  fill  his  place  in  the  citizenship  of  the  British 
Empire  ? 

Let  us  awake  to  our  duty  and  to  our  opportunity. 
Man,  to  be  perfect,  must  develop  body,  mind,  and 
soul.  The  organisation  most  fitted  to  perform  this 
task  stands  ready  to  our  hand.  Two  things  alone 
are  lacking — the  enthusiasm  of  the  religious  pubhc 
and  the  wealth  of  those  whom  God  has  blessed 
with  fortune.  And  in  the  meantime  thousands  are 
perishing  in  London — perishing  in  body,  mind,  and 
soul — because  there  is  no  adequate  provision  made 
for  the  youth  of  the  city. 

To  England  a  chance  is  now  offered  the  magnitude 
of  whose  promise  cannot  be  exaggerated.  For — 
the  scope  is  boundless. 


CHAPTER   III 
A   DECENT  MAN 

A  POOR  man  of  Scotch  extraction,  born  in  County 
Antrim,  moved  to  the  land  of  his  forefathers  at 
the  dawn  of  his  manhood,  and  settled  down  as  a 
quarryman  in  the  village  of  Houston,  some  few  miles 
out  of  Paisley.  His  stature  was  of  the  giant  order, 
and  he  was  possessed  of  prodigious  strength.  To  the 
deep  reflectiveness  of  his  Scotch  ancestry  he  added 
the  gracious  humour  of  the  Irish  people,  so  that  his 
words  were  wise  and  witty  at  the  same  time,  so 
that  his  society  was  at  the  same  time  serious  and 
delightful.  The  foundation  of  his  character  was 
reverence  for  "  the  Name  of  God,  the  Book  of  God, 
the  Day  of  God,  and  the  House  of  God."  Everything 
in  his  life  sprang  from  this  foundational  seriousness. 
He  was  what  we  call  a  deeply  rehgious  man. 

Soon  after  settling  down  to  work  he  married  a 
girl  from  the  Highlands.  She  was  wholly  unlike 
her  huge  and  herculean  husband,  save  in  the  fullness 
of  her  faith.  She  was  smaU,  weak,  deUcate,  and 
soon  after  marriage  was  visited  by  a  long  and 
wasting  affliction  of  the  body  ;  but  she  clung  with 
a  strength  that  equalled  her  husband's  to  the  faith 
which  illumined  not  only  their  own  Hves,  but  the 
lives  of  their  children. 

68 


A   DECENT   MAN  69 

The  son,  whose  story  we  are  now  about  to  follow, 
has  given  the  world  a  glimpse  of  the  mother's  faith, 
a  ghmpse  of  the  Ufe  in  that  Scotch  cottage.  "  My 
sweetest  memory,"  he  once  declared,  "is  to  re- 
member, lying  awake  at  night  on  my  bed  in  my  Httle 
room,  hearing  the  voice  of  my  dear  mother,  who 
for  twenty-five  years  had  never  a  night  without  pain, 
and  never  a  night  with  two  hours'  unbroken  sleep 
on  end  ;  and  through  all  that  quarter  of  a  century 
this  light  shone,  till  it  brought  in  the  everlasting  day. 
My  earliest  and  tenderest  memory  is  lying  awake 
and  hearing  her,  not  singing,  for  she  could  not  sing, 
but  trying  to  forget  her  pains  by  reading  in  the 
silence  of  the  night,  with  all  the  house,  as  she  thought, 
sleeping  around  her,  though  I  was  awake.  And  I 
can  hear  her  in  her  woman's  voice — and  all  memories 
hover  over  it,  for  the  sweetest  voice  that  can  fall 
on  a  man's  ear  is  that  of  his  mother — '  Yea,  though 
I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I 
will  fear  no  evil ;  Thy  rod  and  Thy  staff  they  comfort 
me  !  '  Sweet  mother  !  may  your  child  rise  up  some 
day  and  bear  a  Hke  testimony  for  you  !  " 

This  son,  not  so  tall  a  man  as  his  father,  but  of 
sturdy  build,  thick-set,  and  enduring,  was  put  to  the 
village  school,  and  learned,  with  the  elementary 
subjects  taught  in  similar  Enghsh  schools,  the 
rudiments  of  Latin.  When  his  father  moved  to  a 
maritime  village  on  the  east  shore  of  the  Firth  of 
Clyde,  the  boy  attended  the  local  school  and  prose- 
cuted his  studies  with  a  slow  and  laborious  earnest- 
ness. From  the  first  he  was  nothing  of  a  firework. 
Always  he  was  a  plodder,  taking  slow  steps,  looking 
where  he  went,  and  considering  his  purpose  in  going. 


60  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

The  local  minister  "  remembers  being  struck  by  the 
lad's  habit  of  sitting  alone  on  the  doorstep  for  long 
spells  of  meditation." 

At  the  age  of  thirteen  he  was  put  to  work.  The 
revenue  of  the  cottage  was  small,  the  family  was 
increasing,  it  became  necessary  for  the  son  to  help 
his  father.  The  boy  put  down  his  Latin  Grammar 
and  went  out  to  open  and  shut  a  railway  gate  at  the 
level  crossing  of  the  local  station.  In  addition  to 
this  labour,  he  shifted  luggage,  chpped  tickets,  and 
made  himself  generally  useful  at  the  station.  He 
was  popular.  The  taU  and  burly  youth  had  a  red 
countenance,  brown  eyes  that  sparkled  mischiev- 
ously, a  big-chested  voice  peculiar  for  the  tenderness 
of  its  tone.  People  hked  to  talk  to  him.  He  was 
witty,  genial,  frank,  and,  above  all  things,  kind- 
hearted. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  fitted  for  higher 
employment.  His  education  was  not  perhaps 
above  the  average  in  Scotland,  where  almost  every 
man  is  something  of  a  scholar,  but  it  was  the 
sense  of  power  within  himself,  the  pressure  of  a 
power  which  seemed  greater  than  his  own  capacity, 
and  demanded  greater  opportunities  before  it  could 
develop  that  capacity,  which  drove  him  to  a  step 
destined,  most  strangely,  to  affect  his  future  life. 
The  boy  in  his  father's  cottage  sat  down  and  wrote 
to  the  head-quarters  of  his  railway  company,  stating 
his  opinion  that  he  could  worthily  fiU  a  higher 
position  than  that  of  porter  and  ticket-coUector. 
He  suggested  that  the  railway  company  was  wast- 
ing him. 

No  answer  was  received  to  this  letter. 


A   DECENT    MAN  61 

One  day  he  was  walking  beside  a  train  which  had 
just  pulled  up  at  the  station,  when  a  man  looked 
hastily  out  of  a  carriage  window,  called  him,  and 
asked  :  "  Are  you  the  young  man  who  considers 
himself  too  good  for  his  present  situation  ?  "  The 
young  man's  eyes  sparkled,  and  he  answered,  "  I 
am  that  young  man." 

He  who  looked  out  from  the  carriage  window  was 
one  of  the  highest  officials.  He  took  stock  of  the 
fine  youth,  asked  him  a  few  questions,  and  then, 
as  the  train  went  forward,  bade  him  good-bye, 
without  making  a  promise  of  any  kind.  But  a  few 
weeks  afterwards  the  village  porter  received  a  letter 
appointing  him  second  booking-clerk  in  the  Cale- 
donian Station  at  Greenock.  This  was  a  great  step. 
But  still  the  youth  felt  in  his  soul  the  pressure  of 
that  sense  of  power  which  was  like  the  Hand  of  God. 

The  larger  life  of  the  city  did  not  bewitch  him. 
There  was  that  in  his  soul  which  neither  the  be- 
guilements  of  vice  nor  the  materiahsm  of  a  self- 
absorbed  commerce  could  satisfy  or  even  attract. 
The  influence  of  his  mother  in  his  mind  was  like  her 
presence  in  his  room.  He  was  held  by  her  purity, 
consecrated  by  her  piety.  Deep  and  ineffaceable 
was  the  impression  made  upon  his  character  by 
this  good  mother  and  the  cottage  life  of  simple  faith 
and  steadfast  earnestness. 

It  was  a  walk  from  Greenock  to  his  home,  and 
whenever  occasion  offered  he  strode  out  from  the 
city  with  his  face  to  the  village.  "  He  used  to  walk 
to  Inverkip,  when  his  work  was  done,  late  on  Satur- 
day night,  so  that  he  might  wake  up  on  Sunday 
morning  and  know  that  he  was  at  home  for  the  day." 


62  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

At  the  Free  Church  on  Sunday  a  pastor  preached 
who  greatly  stirred  the  depths  of  this  young  man's 
soul.  Combined  with  the  sweetness  and  tenderness 
of  the  home  reunion,  these  sermons  served  to  pro- 
duce in  the  soul  of  the  youth  that  change  of  the 
spirit's  poise  and  direction  which  we  call  conversion. 
"  I  was  a  decent  man,"  he  says,  "  and  the  decent 
man  is  the  hardest  of  all  to  convert."  This  con- 
version was  quiet  and  tranquillising.  It  was  the 
case  of  a  decent  man  slowly  perceiving  that  decency 
is  not  the  highest  flower  of  the  spirit,  that  something 
radically  and  inherently  bad  in  human  nature  calls 
for  extirpation,  and  that  the  redemption  of  human 
nature  by  the  Son  of  God  is  the  great  pivotal  fact  of 
history. 

I  asked  him  when  he  began  to  be  aware  of  rehgion 

as  something  tremendously  real  in  his  hfe.     He  re- 

phed :  '"  As  soon  as  I  began  to  take  notice."  Mothers 

use  that  phrase  about  their  children.    Perhaps  God 

i)  may  use  it  about  us.   There  comes  a  time  in  the  Ufe 

/  of  a  man  when  he  begins  to  take  notice.    And  then 

/    he  sees  deep  and  wide,  high  and  far,  and  knows 

that  he  must  decide. 

Very  quietly  this  young  booking-clerk  came  to 
see  that  steep  heights  of  spiritual  progress  con- 
fronted him,  and  that  without  a  Divine  Companion 
he  could  never  rise  from  the  level  of  the  common- 
place. He  publicly  declared  himself  a  converted 
man,  and  this  act  was  the  one  thing  in  his  conversion 
which  was  not  invisible,  inaudible,  and  perfectly 
secret  to  his  soul.  He  had  definitely  decided.  At 
this  time  he  was  nineteen  years  of  age. 

He  says  that  the  outward  and  immediate  result 


A   DECENT   MAN  63 

of  his  conversion  was  a  happy  countenance,  the 
expression  of  an  inward  and  spiritual  calm.  It  was 
like  a  Hberation.  He  became  brighter  and  keener. 
He  gave  himself  more  freely  to  games,  sports,  and 
athletic  exercises.  He  had  the  feeling  at  last  that 
life  was  good — good  to  the  very  core.  His  soul, 
hitherto  struggling  and  obscure,  was  now  conscious 
of  Life,  and  Life  more  abundantly. 

Another  promotion  came  to  him  soon  after  this 
spiritual  experience.  He  was  moved  to  Edinburgh, 
to  take  charge  of  the  Company's  office  in  Princes 
Street.  And  very  soon  after  this  considerable  step 
he  was  offered  the  appointment  of  clerk  in  the 
General  Superintendent's  Office  of  the  North 
British  Railway  Company.  Almost  the  first  thing 
he  did  in  Edinburgh  was  to  become  a  member  of  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  "  one  of  the 
wisest  things  a  young  man  can  do  when  he  goes  to 
push  his  way  in  a  town  or  city."  Now  that  he  looks 
back  on  his  life  of  extraordinary  and  world-wide 
service,  this  man  says  that,  humanly  speaking,  his 
career  was  determined  by  that  one  simple  action  of 
joining  long  ago  in  Edinburgh  an  association  of 
young  men  devoted  to  the  Christian  Life. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  why  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  is  such  a  splendid  thing  in  the 
life  of  a  big  city.  It  gives  the  young  and  lonely 
man,  who  Uves  in  lodgings,  somewhere  to  go  to. 
Ah  !  that's  a  great  thing.  Somewhere  to  go.  Consider 
the  lodgings  in  a  back  street.  The  dark,  cold  room. 
A  fire  burning,  perhaps  ;  yes,  but  a  fire  you  could 
put  in  your  hat !  LoneHness,  cold,  dullness,  and 
idle  hours.    Outside,  the  glare  of  the  streets,  the 


64  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

laughter,  the  merriment,  the  vulgarity,  the  de- 
pravity, the  sin  of  those  who  deny  God.  I  tell  you 
it's  well  for  a  young  man,  living  alone  in  a  great 
city,  to  have  somewhere  to  go  to  in  his  leisure  hours. 
No  man  is  safe  at  any  time  without  a  sure  goal." 

The  Association  in  Edinburgh  was  not  only  a 
pleasant  club,  it  was  a  community  fired  by  the 
missionary  spirit.  It  sought  to  fight  pubhcly 
against  what  is  wrong  and  base,  and  to  proclaim 
with  aU  its  force  the  gospel  of  what  is  right  and 
noble.  It  organised  itself  for  missionary  work  and 
for  open-air  preaching.  Every  member  who  felt 
in  his  soul  the  importance  of  conversion  was  a 
missionary  in  his  home,  his  office,  the  streets  and 
churches  of  the  city.  This  young  railway  clerk 
threw  himself  into  the  missionary  work.  He  dis- 
covered that  he  was  a  fluent  speaker,  he  learned  that 
he  was  something  better — a  persuasive  speaker  ; 
later  he  knew  himseK  to  be  called  to  the  service  of 
God. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-three,  encouraged  by  all 
who  worked  with  him,  he  decided  to  prepare  himself 
for  the  ministry  of  the  Church.  No  one  was  more 
earnest  in  this  encouragement  than  the  President  of 
the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association.  There  were 
difficulties  ahead,  many  and  great.  Long  years  of 
study,  coUege  fees,  a  fife  of  poverty  and  stress.  But 
when  he  told  his  mother  of  this  thought,  and  the 
brave  invahd  repHed,  "  I  never  told  you,  but  I 
meant  you  for  that  from  the  first,"  his  mind  was 
determined.  He  resigned  from  the  railway  company, 
became  a  student  missionary  of  St.  Bernard's 
Church,  and  entered  Edinburgh  University.     For 


A   DECENT   MAN  65 

three  years  he  attended  the  necessary  Arts  classes — 
"  a  long,  hard,  and  sore  battle  "  ;  and  afterwards, 
for  a  spell  of  four  years,  he  was  preparing  himself 
theologically  in  Glasgow.  Thus  working  as  a  lay- 
missionary  he  supported  himself,  and  devoted  every 
other  minute  of  his  day  to  the  mental  preparation 
demanded  in  Scotland  of  him  who  would  serve  in 
the  pastorate.  It  is  a  story  marked  throughout, 
splendidly  marked,  by  that  phrase  of  Gladstone's, 
"  a  long  persistency  of  purpose,^''  Never  once  did  the 
man  waver,  never  once  did  he  turn  aside,  never  once 
did  he  lose  heart  and  question  if  the  long,  hard, 
and  sore  battle  was  worth  the  fighting.  Grimly  he 
stuck  to  his  task.  The  httle  Latin  and  less  Greek 
of  the  ex-railway  porter  marched  to  an  academical 
approbation  at  the  side  of  active  and  human  work 
for  Christ  done  in  the  slums  of  Glasgow  and  Edin- 
burgh. 

From  the  first  moment  of  his  pastoral  work,  he 
became  a  famous  man.  His  church  was  packed 
from  end  to  end.  He  held  open-air  services  which 
were  thronged.  An  Irishman  who  heard  this 
Ulster  Scot  said  that  of  aU  the  men  he  had  ever  met 
this  man  "  Hcks  them  entoirely  for  puttin'  it  on  the 
right  foundation  and  givin'  ye  the  right  kind  o' 
feelin'."  Dr.  Blaikie  said  of  him :  "  He  has  con- 
trived to  get  from  his  curriculum  a  refinement  and 
enlargement  of  mind  not  common  in  men  who  have 
had  his  history,  while  his  mind  continues  to  move 
freely  in  its  native  grooves,  and  to  express  itself 
with  a  simpHcity  and  want  of  self-consciousness 
that  are  very  charming.  " 

In  appearance  he  is  like  a  countryman,  rugged, 


66  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

red-faced,  bearded,  and  genial,  with  shrewd  eyes, 
eyebrows  that  are  seldom  at  rest,  a  broad  forehead, 
a  full  countenance,  and  a  smile  which  seems  at 
certain  moments  as  if  his  heart  would  embrace  the 
whole  world.  But  for  this  smile  the  face  might 
be  even  unpleasing,  certainly  it  would  not  attract 
attention ;  but  the  smile  is  the  presence  of  a 
noble  spirit.  At  the  first  glance  he  reminds  one  of 
the  famous  cricketer.  Dr.  W.  G.  Grace,  and,  hke 
Dr.  Grace,  he  has  been  ever  a  great  sportsman — 
swimmer,  rider,  golfer,  and  man  of  the  open  air; 
but  the  deep  notes  of  his  voice,  the  rolling  accents 
of  his  speech,  and,  above  all,  the  earnest  and  un- 
compromising opinions  which  he  utters  with  a  firm 
assurance,  soon  acquaint  one  with  the  fact  that 
beneath  an  exterior  uncouth,  ordinary,  and  some- 
what bucoHc,  here  is  a  soul  unlike  any  other  soul, 
a  man  really  unique  and  remarkable,  a  personahty 
that  is  refreshing  in  the  depths  of  its  most  true 
originaHty. 

I  do  not  know  that  I  have  ever  met  man 
in  my  hfe  who  made  me  so  sharply  and  pro- 
foundly conscious  of  what  I  would  call  an 
isolated  personality — a  personahty  absolutely  itself ; 
an  originahty  entirely  uninfluenced  by  other  men, 
by  books,  by  the  circumstances  of  environment 
or  the  fashions  of  the  day.  "  Most  people,"  says 
a  cynic,  "are  other  people."  This  man  is  himself 
alone.  An  ordinary  man,  but  real ;  not  a  copy  of 
someone  else.  Whether  he  be  right  or  wrong  in  his 
views,  whether  his  ideas  strike  one  as  broad  or 
narrow,  true  or  false,  at  least  one  feels  that  they 
are  veritably  his  own  views,  his  own  ideas.    He  is 


A   DECENT   MAN  67 

neither  echo  nor  reflection,  but  a  living  voice  ;  one 
who  has  looked  at  life  for  himself,  has  gone  deep 
into  his  inward  soul  for  the  answers  to  our  human 
riddles,  who  is  himself  one  of  Ufe's  reaUties. 

There  are  few  lives  more  full  of  danger  to  the 
modesty  of  the  soul,  I  imagine,  than  the  life  of  a 
popular  preacher.  To  see  one's  name  "  billed  " 
in  huge  letters  on  the  railings  of  church  and  taber- 
nacle, to  feel  on  entering  a  pulpit  that  a  vast  congre- 
gation is  expecting  something  remarkable  and  unique, 
to  be  conscious  in  the  commonest  humanities  of 
daily  life  that  one  is  on  the  pedestal  of  a  particular 
apostleship,  and  that  even  in  brushing  one's  hair 
before  a  spectator  one  must  be  careful  not  to 
dislocate  the  halo — this  is  surely  to  live  in  a  spiritual 
peril  as  great  as  that  which  comes  from  carnal 
iniquity.  Then,  too — unfortunately  for  the  religious 
life  in  our  period — there  is  a  competition  for  pulpits, 
a  rivalry  for  newspaper  notoriety,  and  a  necessity, 
if  the  popularity  of  a  preacher  is  to  continue,  for 
incessant  publicity.  I  do  not  think  it  is  an  un- 
charitable comparison  to  liken  these  idols  of  the 
pulpit  to  fashionable  beauties  who,  to  maintain 
their  position,  must  for  ever  wage  a  millinery 
warfare  one  against  the  other. 

Moreover,  behind  the  scenes  of  sectarian  propa- 
ganda are  a  thousand  pitiful  jealousies,  a  thousand 
contemptible  meannesses.  Until  one  has  made 
acquaintance  with  the  inner  life  of  organised  religion, 
one  cannot  realise  the  immense  danger  which  exists 
for  the  preacher  in  these  infinitely  small  and  in- 
finitely trivial  workings  of  the  huge  machine.     I 


68  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

once  spent  an  hour  with  a  popular  preacher  whose 
views  on  religious  experience  I  was  really  anxious  to 
obtain,  and  he  wasted  that  entire  hour  for  me,  and 
would,  I  think,  have  wasted  many  more  if  I  had 
allowed  him  to  do  so,  in  pouring  out  his  grievance 
against  a  certain  journalist  on  the  staff  of  a  religious 
paper  who  had  minimised  the  reports  of  his  revival 
services,  and  had  hinted  that  his  popularity  was  on 
the  wane  ! 

I  have  found  among  men  of  the  world  more 
religion,  more  beauty  of  the  spiritual  hfe,  than  I 
have  yet  found  among  professional  disciples.  In 
conversation  with  the  members  of  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  I  discovered  far  greater  depth 
of  spiritual  reality,  a  far  more  sensitive  appre- 
hension of  the  sweetness  and  modesty  of  Christ, 
than  I  have  found  among  popular  preachers.  It 
would  be,  I  am  sure,  a  most  excellent  discipline 
for  the  preacher  if  he  mixed  with  such  a  body  of 
laymen  as  that  which  composes  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association,  if  he  put  off  the  orator, 
forgot  himself  as  Sir  Oracle,  and  with  all  modesty 
and  humiHty  gave  himself  to  the  work  of  sympa- 
thetically understanding  the  thoughts  and  feelings 
of  these  apparently  lesser  men. 

In  the  case  of  the  man  whose  story  I  have  briefly 
sketched  above,  the  danger  of  an  almost  world-wide 
popularity  has  been  greatly  mitigated  by  his 
experience  of  the  Association,  by  his  companionship 
with  humble  struggles  after  virtue,  by  his  knowledge 
of  the  immense  valour  and  noble  endurance  which 
inspire  the  soul  of  Christianity's  anonymous  laity. 
Yet  I  would  not  pretend  that  he  has  altogether 


A   DECENT   MAN  69 

escaped  the  perils  of  notoriety,  or  that  he  has  arrived 
at  a  just  estimate  of  the  worth  of  his  pedestal.  But 
I  do  think  that  he  has  retained,  and  with  a  firm 
hold,  the  great  essentials  of  the  Christian  verity, 
and  that  he  is  in  no  danger  of  substituting  a  personal 
and  original  theology  for  the  ancient  rehgion  of  his 
Master. 

He  holds,  if  I  understand  him  aright,  that  con- 
version is  the  central  fact  of  the  Christian  religion. 
He  maintains  that  Christ  made  it  the  central  fact. 
For  him,  beyond  all  doubt,  there  is  a  moment  in 
a  man's  Hfe  when  decision  is  made,  one  way  or 
another — the  decision  to  accept  or  to  reject  Christ 
as  Saviour-Redeemer.  And  he  declares  that  the 
chronicles  of  conversion  supply  at  once  the  proof 
of  Christianity's  divine  origin  and  a  refutation  of 
the  theses  of  materialism. 

I  have  heard  of  a  preacher  who  would  lift  a 
tumbler  of  water  from  the  ledge  of  a  pulpit,  let  it 
fall  to  the  pavement  of  the  church,  and  then, 
leaning  over  his  pulpit,  contemplating  the  shivered 
glass  and  the  spreading  trickle  of  spilt  liquid,  would 
ask  someone  to  give  him  back  that  tumbler  of  water. 
In  some  such  way  this  Scot  regards  the  miracle 
of  conversion  ;  and  with  that  miracle  challenges 
the  man  of  science.  He  says  that  the  mechanical 
evolutionist  cannot  explain  how  a  man  smashed  to 
pieces  by  sin  and  iniquity  is  restored,  suddenly, 
in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  to  a  man  wholly  different 
from  that  he  was  before.  He  thinks  that  David 
in  the  Fortieth  Psalm  presented  a  truer  view  of  life 
than  the  hasty  protagonist  of  evolution,  who  would 
reduce  existence  to  the  iron  laws  of  mechanics. 


70  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

He  brought  me  up  also  out  of  an  horrible  pit,  out  of 
the  miry  clay,  and  set  my  feet  upon  a  rock,  and 
established  my  goings.  In  these  few  words  is  ex- 
pressed for  him  the  whole  miracle  of  conversion 
and  the  complete  answer  to  the  materialistic  man  of 
science.  A  poor  wretch,  smashed  to  pieces  at  the 
bottom  of  a  pit,  shattered  out  of  the  Hkeness  of 
humanity,  and  lying  helpless  in  the  midst  of  miry 
clay,  is  suddenly  lifted  up,  lifted  into  fresh  air, 
placed  upon  a  rock,  and  inspired  with  an  entirely 
different  spirit  of  existence.  From  miry  clay  to 
rock — where  is  the  evolution  ?  From  the  bottom 
of  the  pit  to  an  established  way  of  going — where 
is  the  machinery  ?  He  challenges  science,  not  only 
to  account  for  this  miracle,  but  to  perform  a  like 
act  without  the  aid  of  God. 

He  views  the  present  time,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
with  some  misgiving.  He  thinks  that  the  present 
generation  does  not  reahse  the  immense  difference 
in  value  between  things  temporal  and  things 
eternal.  He  regards  the  general  passion  for  aesthetics 
as  a  grave  danger — the  act  of  a  madman  who 
refuses  the  bread  of  life  and  seeks  to  support  his 
strength  with  the  decorations  of  existence.  He  does 
not  play  the  Philistine  towards  art,  but  he  says 
that  art  is  not  the  object  of  life,  that  a  man  cannot 
nourish  his  soul  by  art,  that  Christ  and  His  Apostles 
certainly  did  not  labour  for  art  at  the  beginning 
of  our  era.  For  what  purpose  did  Christ  come  ? 
and  by  what  means  did  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles 
come  to  be  written  ? — ^let  a  man,  he  says,  honestly 
face  those  two  questions,  and  he  wiU  be  forced  to  see 
that  there  is  something  beyond  art,  that  art  is  at 


A   DECENT   MAN  71 

least  secondary — in  fact,  that  the  soul  of  man  is 
the  one  object  of  existence.  He  does  not  believe 
that  any  solution  wiU  ever  be  found  for  political 
and  social  problems,  until  the  nation  is  convinced 
that  Christ  is  the  universal  Saviour,  and  that  the 
supreme  purpose  of  human  hfe  is  the  education  of 
the  soul. 

He  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  new  theologies. 
These  teachings  he  is  inclined  to  regard  as  short- 
cuts, not  to  Christianity,  but  away  from  Christianity. 
Those  who  follow  the  new  theologies  do  not  live 
the  Christ  life  ;  they  think  that  they  think  that 
life,  but  they  cannot  imagine  that  they  really  live 
it.  Do  they  convert  sinners  ?  Do  they  visit  the 
sick,  the  prisoners  and  captives,  the  widows  and  the 
fatherless  ?  Do  they  hunger  and  thirst  for  the  souls 
of  men  ?  He  asks  if  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles — that 
great  fountain-head  of  the  Christian  religion — 
could  ever  have  been  written  if  those  who  followed 
Christ  had  held  the  views  of  the  new  theologies. 

There  is,  I  think,  something  harsh  and  something 
hard  and  something  narrow  in  his  presentment  of 
the  Christian  reUgion,  but  one  cannot  doubt  that 
he  holds  with  a  most  virile  tenacity  the  original 
essentials — the  divinity  of  Christ  and  the  need  of 
a  new  birth  for  the  spirit. 

In  the  narratives  which  follow  the  reader  will  find 
that  these  two  verities  influence  the  souls  of  ordinary 
men,  and  transform  human  life  in  a  most  extraordi- 
nary manner.  And  he  wiU  see  that  the  revolution 
of  a  spiritual  change  does  not  always  proceed  from 
gradual  or  sudden  adhesion  to  a  certain  doctrine, 
does  not  always  flow  from  the  excitement  of  a 


72  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

revivalist  meeting,  is  not  always  inspired  by  some- 
thing said  very  eloquently  or  very  strikingly  by  a 
popular  preacher.  I  am  disposed  to  think  that  there 
are  as  many  conversions  outside  the  churches  as 
within,  that  many  of  them  are  entirely  independent 
of  theological  opinion,  and  that  in  the  majority  of 
cases  they  are  experienced  without  one  throb  of 
excitement,  without  one  spasm  of  violence.  I 
believe  that  many  men  quite  outside  the  churches 
say  to  themselves,  "  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my 
Father  "  ;  and  that  no  one  save  the  Father  is 
aware  of  the  turning  round  of  that  soul. 

It  has  been  to  me  an  ever-increasing  experience 
to  discover  much  Christianity  outside  the  folds  of 
theology,  and  within  those  folds  but  little.  I  am 
as  greatly  surprised  by  the  number  of  Christians 
outside  the  churches  as  by  the  paucity  of  Christians 
within.  And  a  saying  of  Christ's  has  become  for 
me  exceedingly  real  and  exceedingly  wonderful  in 
consequence ;  that  saying  which  should  be  of 
tremendous  warning  to  the  professional  Christian, 
and  of  singular  encouragement  to  the  good  man 
who  does  not  dare  to  caU  himself  a  Christian  : — 

"  Many  shall  say  to  me  in  that  day,  Lord,  Lord, 
have  we  not  prophesied  in  thy  name,  and  in  thy  name 
have  cast  out  devils,  and  in  thy  name  done  many  won- 
derful works  ?  Then  will  I  profess  unto  them,  I  never 
knew  you,^* 


CHAPTER   IV 
THE   ACCIDENTS   OF  LIFE 

NOT  many  years  ago  a  young  journalist  came 
to  London  from  the  North  of  England,  and 
took  up  a  humble  position  on  one  of  those  numerous 
and  struggling  newspapers  which  are  published  in 
the  suburbs. 

He  was  at  this  time  only  nineteen  years  of  age, 
typical  of  the  North  Country  in  the  shrewdness  and 
energy  of  his  character,  and  on  every  possible  score 
a  youth  of  whom  one  would  say  that  for  him  at 
least  the  manifold  temptations  of  the  metropolis 
presented  scarcely  the  element  of  danger.  He  came 
to  London  not  aimlessly,  but  with  the  definite 
purpose  to  push  his  fortunes.  Even  his  ambition 
was  practical ;  he  did  not  dream  of  establishing 
a  reputation  or  of  chmbing  to  an  editorial  chair. 
"  I  knew,"  he  told  me,  "  that  London  was  the  best 
school  of  journalism,  and  my  theory  was  to  work 
hard,  learn  my  business,  get  all  the  experience  I 
could,  and  then  return  as  soon  as  possible  to  my 
native  town  and  the  provincial  newspaper  on  which 
J  had  begun  my  career." 

Not  only  was  his  ambition  practical  and  earnest, 
but  his  temperament  was  antipathetic  to  vice, 
frivolity,  and  looseness  of  any  kind.     He  was  not 

73 


74  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

one  of  those  men  to  whom  the  streets  of  London 
are  like  a  fiery  furnace.  In  the  cold  and  garnished 
chambers  of  his  brain  the  hghts  of  the  town  shone 
with  no  glamour  of  illusion.  He  was  a  spectator 
of  the  drama  of  the  streets,  moved  neither  by  the 
apparent  gaiety  of  the  swarming  crowds  nor  by  the 
obvious  misery,  destitution,  and  depravity  which 
mocked  at  every  turn  the  pageant  of  this  crowding 
pleasure.  He  looked  on.  He  observed.  He 
reflected  and  made  notes.  A  cooler  brain,  a  more 
detached  philosopher,  has  seldom  come  to  the  great 
city  even  from  the  North  of  England.  I  feel  about 
him  that  he  is  one  of  those  rare  children  of  tem- 
peramental isolation  for  whom  there  exists  no 
contagion. 

He  is  now  a  man  of  six-  or  seven-and-twenty,  and 
the  experience  through  which  he  has  passed  can 
almost  be  read  in  his  worn  and  haggard  face  before 
it  is  dragged,  slowly,  thoughtfully  and  reluctantly, 
from  his  hps.  He  has  suffered  terribly,  frightfully, 
suffered  nearly  every  bitterness  and  deprivation 
which  can  befall  unlucky  men  at  the  crowded  centres 
of  hfe  ;  and  the  true  measure  of  his  agony  is  the 
strong  and  stoical  character  of  his  nature,  his 
isolation  of  soul,  his  soHtude  and  loneliness  of  brain, 
so  that,  Hstening  to  him  as  he  describes  those 
experiences  and  seeks  to  analyse  his  feehngs — a  pale 
and  rather  cynical  smile  on  his  Hps — one  reahses 
that  this  man  has  endured  tragedy  of  a  very  deep 
and  penetrating  order,  a  tragedy  deeper  than 
the  heart,  an  unshared  and  bitterly  self -annotated 
tragedy  of  the  brain  and  soul. 

The  face  is  handsome  but  not  attractive  at  the 


THE    ACCIDENTS    OF    LIFE  76 

first  glance.  There  is  a  suggestion  of  scorn  on  the 
lips  that  are  never  firmly  closed,  of  mockery  in  the 
eyes  that  are  weary  and  rather  contemptuous  ;  it  is 
the  face  of  a  man  who  cannot  easily  "  give  himself," 
who  is  never  carried  away  by  passion  or  enthu- 
siasm, who  is  self -watchful,  self-critical,  self-centred, 
and  perhaps  distrustful  of  every  single  creature 
on  the  earth  until  he  has  searched  them  through  and 
through  for  himself,  and  come  to  a  judgment, 
which,  he  would  probably  say,  laughing  at  himself, 
is  quite  Hkely  to  be  wrong.  Yet  there  are  moments, 
rare  and  silent,  when  one  feels  that  his  solitude 
has  at  last  established,  or  at  any  rate  is  beginning 
to  estabhsh,  the  only  contact  that  counts. 

He  had  been  brought  up  from  childhood  by  an 
aunt  of  whom  he  thought  censoriously  at  the  time, 
but  for  whom  he  is  now  incHned  to  entertain  gentler 
feelings,  almost  of  affection.  "  She  was  a  hard 
woman,"  he  said,  "  one  of  those  rigid  and  cast-iron 
personalities,  so  sure  of  themselves  that  they  think 
it  an  easy  matter  to  manage  other  people.  But  I 
recognise  now  that  she  meant  to  be  kind,  and  that 
her  rigorous  dragooning  was  intended  for  my  benefit. 
She  thought  she  could  drill  me  into  decency  and 
success." 

I  asked  him  if  he  had  received  from  this  woman, 
the  earliest  influence  on  his  life,  any  definite  notions 
of  religion. 

"No,"  he  rephed,  "  not  directly  from  her,  and 
nothing  definite.  I  cannot  recall  any  single  reference 
ever  made  by  her  to  rehgion.  That  is  to  say,  she 
neither  taught  me  religion,  nor,  what  would  perhaps 
have  been  much  better,  discussed  the  subject  with 


76  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

me.  But  she  sent  me  to  a  Sunday-school,  and  on 
the  occasions  when  I  grew  restive  she  would  tell 
me  that  it  was  the  right  thing  to  do,  to  go  to  Sunday- 
school,  and  that  I  must  submit  to  her  judgment. 
She  was  of  the  Church  of  England,  but  so  far  as  I 
remember  did  not  very  often  go  to  church  ;  she 
sent  me  there,  however,  and  always  spoke  of  church 
attendance  as  one  of  the  usual  duties  of  Hfe." 

At  school  he  had  exactly  the  same  feeling  for 
religion  as  he  had  for  arithmetic  ;  it  was  one  of  the 
subjects.  He  grew  up  with  exactly  the  same  feehng 
for  religion  as  he  had  for  the  wash-basin  and  the  hair- 
brush ;  it  was  one  of  the  respectabiUties. 

When  he  arrived  in  London  he  was  far  too  much 
concerned  with  his  daily  work  to  give  a  single 
thought  to  rehgion.  It  simply  dropped  out  of  his 
life,  and  the  loss  of  it  made  no  difference.  If  he 
had  dropped  his  watch,  or  his  pocket-handkerchief, 
he  would  have  missed  it  and  looked  about  for  it. 
But  rehgion  fell  from  his  thought,  and  he  was  even 
unconscious  of  the  fall. 

"  I  think  it  is  very  Hkely,"  he  said,  "  that  I 
should  have  gone  occasionally  to  church,  if  my 
work  had  allowed  ;  for,  you  see,  to  go  to  church  on 
Sunday  was  something  of  a  habit  with  me,  and  at 
any  rate  it  would  at  least  have  been  something  to 
do.  But  I  simply  never  gave  it  a  thought,  because 
my  work  occupied  every  hour  of  Hfe  from  week-end 
to  week-end.  People  have  no  idea  how  hard  a 
journahst  is  worked  on  these  suburban  papers. 
Why  should  they  ?  Who  is  Hkely  to  be  interested 
or  care  a  jot  for  the  obscure  writer  on  a  local  rag  ! 
But  really  it  was  hard  work.    I  very  often  wrote 


THE    ACCIDENTS    OF    LIFE  77 

eighteen  or  twenty  columns  a  week,  and  besides  the 
writing  I  had  to  superintend  the  printing  and  the 
proof-reading,  besides  doing  what  I  could  to  push 
the  sales.  I  reaUy  doubt  if  ever  a  slave  worked 
harder  than  I  did  then,  and  as  many  a  man  is  doing 
now,  on  a  London  suburban  newspaper.  There  was 
certainly  no  time  for  going  to  church." 

To  add  to  his  depression  of  mind  and  to  increase 
his  gradual  feehng  of  bitterness,  was  the  matter  of 
lodgings. 

"  Heaven  save  a  man,"  he  exclaimed,  "  from 
living  in  London  suburban  lodgings  !  I  shall  never 
forget  my  experiences.  I  put  an  advertisement 
in  the  paper,  and  received  over  a  hundred  answers. 
At  how  many  doors  I  knocked  I  can't  say,  but  I 
could  almost  swear  that  at  every  one  a  different 
smell  encountered  my  nostrils.  The  gloom  of  those 
narrow  passages  !  The  suffocation  of  those  dirty 
little  rooms  !  The  grime  upon  everything — windows, 
furniture,  hangings,  and  bed-hnen  !  Ugh  !  And 
worse  than  the  houses,  worse  than  the  rooms,  worse 
than  the  furniture — the  landladies  !  Oh,  yes,  a 
thousand  times  worse.  I  think  I  could  almost 
write  a  book  about  those  women.  They  seemed  to 
come  to  the  front  door  from  some  frightful  lair  in 
the  back  regions,  hke  hungry  animals  disturbed  in 
sleep.  Dirty  tired  faces,  dirty  unbrushed  hair, 
dirty  slattern  clothes — ^Uke  scarecrows.  It  always 
seemed  to  me  that  those  women  were  not  properly 
awake.  They  were  sleep-walkers,  crawHng  about 
in  their  dark  houses,  like  figures  in  an  evil  dream. 
I  have  been  in  pretty  low  places  since  those  da^^-s, 
and  I  have  got  accustomed  to  the  doss-house  and 


78  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

the  coffee-shop  ;  but  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  go 
back  to  suburban  lodgings  in  London  without  a 
struggle.  You  see,  I  could  only  afford  to  pay 
fourteen  shillings  a  week." 

For  some  three  years,  at  a  beggarly  wage,  he 
slaved  on  this  little  paper,  and  then  moved  to 
another  suburban  district  and  into  better  circum- 
stances. All  this  time,  the  reader  must  be  careful 
to  remember,  he  had  lived  a  moral  and  an  earnest 
Hfe,  unbeguiled  by  any  one  of  the  temptations 
which  drag  a  man  swiftly  or  slowly  down  to  the 
gutter  and  inevitably  defile  his  soul.  He  was  too 
hard-worked  to  go  to  church  or  to  think  about 
religion,  and  too  hard-worked  to  go  to  the  dogs. 
A  trivial  circumstance  broke  the  connection  with 
this  new  paper  after  he  had  been  there  a  couple  of 
years.  However,  the  loss  of  regular  employment 
and  steady  pay  was  not  in  the  nature  of  disaster. 
He  had  learned  the  ropes.  He  knew  how  the  great 
London  daihes  get  their  news.  And,  what  was  more 
important  still,  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
several  men  on  the  sub-editorial  staffs  of  some  of  the 
principal  London  papers.  He  was  in  the  position  to 
start  as  a  free  lance. 

It  must  be  explained  to  the  reader  that  beneath 
the  regular  editorial  staff  of  a  newspaper,  and  below 
the  regular  sub-editorial  staff  of  reporters  and  news 
writers,  there  are  two  wings  of  a  great  and  numerous 
free-lance  army.  In  the  one  wing  are  men  of 
letters,  people  of  note  or  position,  who  contribute 
special  articles  and  are  well  paid  for  this  occa- 
sional work ;  and  in  the  other  wing  are  the 
young  writer  struggling  for  a  foothold,  the  old  and 


THE    ACCIDENTS    OF    LIFE  79 

broken  writer  struggling  to  keep  up  appearances, 
and  a  heterogeneous  host  of  Hfe's  failures  from  every 
trade  and  profession  in  the  world,  seeking  to  keep 
body  and  soul  together  by  the  easiest  way  of 
obtaining  bread  without  much  effort  and  without  the 
necessity  of  special  knowledge.  Paragraphs  are 
paid  for  by  shiUings  and  half-crowns. 

Our  young  man  from  the  North  came  into  this 
free-lance  army  with  the  determination  to  make 
himself  useful  and  without  a  single  misgiving. 
It  was,  in  some  wa3^s,  a  step  up.  The  opportunities 
for  experience  were  innumerable,  the  field  of  dis- 
covery was  enormous.  He  dreamed  no  dreams, 
but  he  looked  confidently  to  getting  a  regular  place 
on  one  of  the  great  papers,  and  then,  crammed  with 
a  rich  experience,  to  go  back  to  his  native  town,  a 
much  more  valuable  commodity  in  that  local 
market. 

Even  here,  in  the  larger  and  infinitely  more 
dangerous  world  of  London  journaHsm,  he  stood 
clear  of  foUy  and  uncontaminated  by  vice.  So  far 
as  conduct  goes  he  was  an  ordinarily  moral  man; 
virtue  did  not  attract  him,  but  sin  had  no  bewitch- 
ments for  him.  He  was  a  clever,  rational,  and 
industrious  young  man  following  a  definite  road 
to  material  prosperity. 

For  some  time  he  did  very  weU  as  a  free  lance. 
He  ran  here  and  there,  picked  up  news,  got  informa- 
tion, discovered  interesting  things,  and  turned 
them  all  into  brief  and  simple  "  copy."  Occasion- 
ally he  received  a  commission  from  a  newspaper 
and  served  as  a  reporter  at  pubhc  functions,  ban- 
quets, and  even  in  the  Press  GaUery  of  the  House  of 


80  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

Commons.  There  were  certainly  weeks  when  he 
earned  little  money,  but  there  were  also  single  days 
when  he  earned  as  much  as  he  had  hitherto  received 
in  the  suburbs  for  a  whole  week's  work.  He  was 
quite  contented.    He  had  no  misgivings. 

Then  there  occurred  one  of  those  great  events  in 
Hfe  whose  consequences  reach  into  the  remotest 
corners  of  national  existence.  King  Edward  died. 
For  days,  for  weeks,  the  newspapers  filled  them- 
selves with  this  tremendous  matter.  Special  corre- 
spondents, distinguished  contributors  and  photo- 
graphers were  kept  busy  from  morning  to  night. 
The  news-getter  was  crowded  out. 

Our  man  went  hither  and  thither,  but  in  vain. 
His  news  might  be  good,  might  be  interesting, 
might  be  better  than  anything  he  had  done  before, 
but  there  was  no  room  for  it.  He  asked  to  be  put 
on  special  jobs.    They  were  all  filled. 

His  money  melted  away.    He  became  anxious. 

Some  weeks  after  the  Royal  funeral  he  began  to 
get  occasional  work,  but  with  nothing  like  the  same 
regularity.  It  was  one  of  those  accidents  in  Hfe 
which  seem  to  sever  many  and  long-accustomed 
connections. 

The  Coronation  of  King  George  proved  our  man's 
culminating  disaster.  Long  before  the  day  of  the 
great  pageant  the  papers  concerned  themselves 
with  httle  else  than  the  preparations.  He  found 
it  impossible  to  earn  sufficient  money  for  his  daily 
needs. 

"  I  thought  it  weU  out,"  he  told  me,  "  and  then 
I  saw  that  it  was  a  case  of  surrender.  I  was  beaten. 
I  hated  to  do  it,  I  struggled  against  it,  for  I  suppose 


THE    ACCIDENTS    OF    LIFE  81 

I'm  rather  proud,  and  anyhow  it  was  a  thing  I  had 
never  done  before  or  ever  contemplated  for  a 
moment — I  determined  to  ask  for  help  from  my 

relatives.    I  knew  of  cousins  who  lived  in  R . 

I  knew  they  were  well-off,  for  I  had  heard  my 
aunt  speak  of  property  they  owned  in  the  town. 
And  I  knew  that  they  kept  a  shop.  The  money  I 
possessed  was  just  sufficient  to  take  me  there  by 
train  and  buy  me  a  clean  coUar.  I  went  down 
one  afternoon,  hating  it  as  you  can  imagine,  and 
approached  the  street  in  which  the  shop  was 
situated,  penniless  and  self-loathing.  But  other 
feelings  soon  took  possession  of  me.  The  shop  was 
not  to  be  found  !  I  inquired  here  and  there,  but 
no  one  could  give  me  information  of  any  kind. 
Like  a  true  journahst  I  made  for  the  local  news- 
paper oifice.  The  proprietor  could  tell  me  nothing 
beyond  the  fact  that  the  family  had  long  left  the 
town.  I  told  him  my  position.  He  was  quite  decent, 
but  he  said  he  really  had  not  work  enough  for  his 
own  staff.  His  son  said  he  could  put  me  up  for 
the  night,  and  I  slept  there,  grateful  for  a  bed. 
Next  day  I  set  out  and  wallved  to  London. 

"  I  am  a  good  walker,  but  I  shall  never  forget 
how  my  whole  body  ached  that  day.  I  arrived  in 
London  at  night,  very  footsore,  very  dusty,  and 
absolutely  ravenous  for  food.  B}^  good  fortune, 
I  met  a  fellow- journalist  who  had  a  sixpence  in  his 
pocket.  The  good  chap  bought  me  a  glass  of 
milk  and  a  scone,  and  smuggled  me,  without  being 
seen  by  the  landlady,  into  the  cubicle  where  he 
lodged  by  the  week.  I  slept  till  eight  o'clock  the 
next  morning  !  " 
a 


82  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

And  then  our  man  came  down  upon  the  bed-rock 
of  life. 

For  weeks  he  walked  and  starved  upon  the 
London  streets,  for  weeks  he  slept  and  starved  on 
the  Embankment.  Now  and  then  a  friend  in  luck 
took  pity  upon  him  ;  now  and  then  he  earned  a 
few  pence  ;  but  for  days  he  absolutely  starved, 
was  pierced  by  cold  and  rain,  and  regarded  the  river 
as  perhaps  the  best  solution  of  his  difficulty. 

It  was  only  with  the  very  greatest  difficulty  that 
he  could  bring  himself  to  speak  of  those  days.  He 
seemed  to  tear  the  words  from  his  heart.  There  was 
always  the  pale  smile  on  his  lips,  always  the  mocking 
look  in  his  eyes — half  as  if  he  detested  himself  for 
speaking  at  aU,  and  half  as  if  he  knew  that  no  one 
else  could  understand  these  matters — but  the  worn, 
thin  face  would  flush  again  and  again,  his  voice 
would  almost  break,  and  he  would  suddenly,  with 
an  effort,  look  straight  in  my  eyes  and  say,  "  You 
know  it's  awfully  difficult  to  say  all  this." 

In  brief,  this  is  what  he  told  me. 

"  There  are  two  ways  of  describing  those  days. 
The  point  of  view  then,  the  point  of  view  now,  I 
dare  say,  too,  that  another  man  would  describe 
exactly  the  same  things  quite  differently.  It 
depends  on  the  temperament.  I  remember  one 
thing  very  clearly.  As  I  was  walking  about  the 
streets,  awfuUy  tired  and  awfuUy  hungry,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  everybody  I  passed  knew  it  perfectly 
well,  just  as  well  as  I  did,  and  didn't  care  a  hang. 
It  seemed  to  me,  too,  that  they  were  all  tre- 
mendously rich  and  comfortable.  And  I  used  to 
think  that  these  very  rich  and  comfortable  people 


THE    ACCIDENTS    OF    LIFE  83 

knew  how  awfully  hungry  I  was,  and  how  awfully 
tired,  and  that  they  didn't  care. 

"  Of  course,  it  was  absurd.  I  look  back  now  and 
laugh.  But  that  was  my  feeling  at  the  time,  and  it 
was  rather  bad.  In  the  case  of  a  man  with  less 
restraint  and  hotter  blood  it  might  have  been 
dangerous.  When  a  chap  is  starving  on  the  streets 
he  hves  in  a  kind  of  dazed  illusion.  It's  very  queer. 
I  wonder  if  people  think  about  that.  Nothing  is 
quite  real,  except  his  hunger  ;  even  that  becomes  at 
last  a  numb  ache.  Everything  is  Hke  a  dream, 
the  sort  of  dream  in  which  you  want  to  shriek.  The 
cheapest  jeweller's  shop  seems  to  flash  with  the 
wealth  of  Monte  Cristo.  The  meanest  baker's 
window  suggests  a  royal  banquet.  The  smells 
of  a  greasy  cookshop  are  simply  dehcious,  but 
maddening.  And  everybody,  as  I  said,  seems  to  be 
prodigiously  rich,  and  to  know.^'' 

Then  I  got  this  from  him. 

"  It  was  while  I  was  starving  on  the  streets  that 
I  first  thought  definitely  about  God,  or  religion. 
Not  very  beautiful  thoughts,  as  you  can  imagine  ! 
It  seemed  to  me  that  all  these  immensely  rich 
people  who  knew  I  was  hungry  and  didn't  care,  were 
Christians.  It  made  me  angry  with  Christianity, 
to  think  what  a  false  and  humbugging  thing  it  was. 
I  never  considered  it  as  a  theology  ;  I  just  thought 
of  it  as  a  rehgion.  It  seemed  to  me  a  most  ghastly 
sham.  Here  was  I,  hungry  and  tired  in  the  very 
centre  of  London,  and  no  one  cared  a  curse  for  me  ! 
AH  these  preposterously  rich  Christians  looked  at 
me,  knew  my  need,  and  passed  on  without  a  twinge 
of    conscience !      One    Simday    I    was    frightfully 


84  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

weary,  and  slipped  into  a  churcli,  just  for  the  rest. 
The  prayers  and  music  rather  soothed  me  ;  I  knew 
them  quite  well,  and  their  famiharity  was  something 
in  the  nature  of  a  consolation.  But  when  the 
parson  got  up  to  preach  all  my  ire  rose  up  in  my 
soul.  I  don't  know  the  man,  not  even  his  name, 
but  I'd  lay  anything  he's  a  humbug.  Truly,  he 
made  me  wild.  Every  word  rang  false  ;  the  in- 
tonation was  an  affectation ;  the  gestures  were 
all  studied ;  and — weU,  the  whole  thing  was 
perfectly  beastly  to  me  !  I  simply  couldn't  stand  it. 
I  got  up  in  the  middle  of  his  preaching,  and  walked 
out  of  church,  disgusted  with  religion. 

**  I  had  always  believed  in  a  God,  in  some  great 
Power  overruling  the  universe,  although  I  had 
never  seriously  concerned  myself  with  the  question. 
It  was  rather  at  the  back  of  my  mind  ;  it  seldom 
presented  itself  to  my  definite  consciousness.  But 
I  began  now  to  doubt  if  God  of  any  kind  existed  at 
aU.  It  wasn't  on  account  of  my  own  misfortune  ; 
my  own  bitterness  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It 
was  from  what  I  saw.  I  don't  like  to  tell  you  these 
things.  I  doubt  if  they  can  be  told.  But  I  saw 
things  which  made  me  feel  as  if  God  could  not 
possibly  exist." 

I  pressed  him  to  tell  me. 

"  Here  is  one  thing,"  he  said  reluctantly,  "  but 
it's  rather  horrible,  and  I  can't  describe  it  fuUy  ; 
you'U  have  to  imagine  the  real  horror  for  yourself. 
One  night  I  was  sitting  on  a  seat  by  Blackfriars 
Bridge,  joUy  tired  and  nearly  nodding  oS  to  sleep. 
Two  women  came  shuffling  towards  the  bench  and 
sat  down  together.    They  were  middle-aged  women, 


THE    ACCIDENTS    OF    LIFE  85 

dressed  in  most  filthy  rags.  They  spoke  to  each 
other  in  that  whimpering  and  complaining,  but 
perfectly  resigned  tone  of  voice  which  is  common 
to  aU  miserable  women.  They  talked  of  their  aches 
and  pains.  They  were  comforting  each  other.  Then 
one  of  them  spoke  of  her  cancer,  and  said  it  was 
getting  terrible.  She  opened  her  dirty  jacket  to 
show  her  friend.  I  turned  my  head  to  look.  Both 
breasts  were  eaten  away.  "  God  in  heaven  !  "  I 
cried  to  myself,  and  got  upon  my  feet  and  walked 
away  as  hard  as  I  could  go.  I  looked  up  at  the  stars  ; 
they  seemed  devilish.  I  looked  at  the  river  ;  it 
seemed  infernal.  I  can't  tell  you  exactly  what  I 
felt  at  that  moment,  but  I  was  certainly  then  what 
men  call  Godless.  I  did  not  arraign  God,  or  feel 
animosity  against  Him.  I  simply  felt  that  He  could 
not  exist.  That  woman — ^homeless  and  penniless 
on  the  streets  !  .  .  . 

"  But  these  were  sudden  uprushes,  which  came 
and  went.  I  was  never  persistently  without  the 
sense  of  some  God  in  the  universe.  However,  my 
thoughts  were  generally  pretty  bitter.  Most  of 
them  were  directed  against  Christianity  as  a  sham 
rehgion. 

"  Then  I  came  to  see  that  my  position,  my 
material  position,  was  absolutely  desperate.  I  saw 
that  I  must  make  a  final  effort  or  perish  on  the 
streets.  A  friend  gave  me  a  few  coppers,  and  I 
bought  a  clean  collar,  had  a  wash,  and  set  out  to  caU 
on  sub-editors.  I  surprised  myself.  I  never  knew 
I  had  such  audacity.  I  wasn't  ashamed  at  the  time, 
although  I  am  now,  but  I  was  amazed  at  my  own 
cheek.     I   simply   refused   to   take   their   No.     I 


86  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

stood  there  and  said  I  was  hungry,  that  I  was 
literally  starving,  that  they  had  got  to  give  me  work. 
And  do  you  know  what  most  of  them  said  ?  It  hurt 
me  more  than  anything  else.  They  said,  *  My 
dear  fellow,  I  know  dozens  of  chaps  like  you.' 
WeU,  that  seemed  awfuUy  hard.  It  seemed  reaUy 
brutal.  I — weU,  I  simply  couldn't  stand  it.  Dozens  ! 
— ^yes,  dozens  and  hundreds,  and  that  was  the 
excuse  for  not  giving  me  a  crust  of  bread  !  Of 
course,  I  see  it  differently  now.  But  at  the  time 
it  hurt  me  awfully. 

"  An  idea  occurred  to  me.  I  had  once  written 
some  paragraphs  for  a  theatrical  man.  I  went  off 
to  the  theatre  and  offered  myself  as  his  press  agent. 
I  couldn't  see  him,  but  his  manager  said  there  was 
no  chance  of  such  work  for  me.  I  begged  him  to  let 
me  have  a  shot.  He  said  No,  and  gave  me  his 
reasons  for  thinking  that  such  work  did  not  affect 
the  bookings. 

"  I  left  him,  and  walked  away  in  absolute  despair. 
I  suppose  I  must  have  been  very  near  a  physical 
coUapse.  Presently  I  felt  that  I  could  walk  no 
further.  I  came  to  a  street  corner  in  the  Strand, 
and  stopped.  What  should  I  do  ?  It  was  the  end 
of  things  for  me.  I  recognised  that.  But  what 
should  I  do  ? — ^how  should  I  take  it,  and  where  ? 
At  that  moment,  I  can't  teU  you  why,  I  raised  my 
head  and  looked  up  at  the  taU  building  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  road.  I  knew  it  well.  It  was  the 
office  of  the  Morning  Post.  But  I  looked  above  the 
windows  of  the  newspaper  to  the  windows  of  the 
second  floor — how  or  why  I  cannot  tell  you — and 
there  I  saw  the  words,   *  Young  Men's  Christian 


THE   ACCIDENTS    OF   LIFE  87 

Association.'  It  didn't  strike  me  at  the  time  as  an 
inspiration,  nor  was  I  conscious  of  anything  mys- 
terious in  the  fact  that  I  had  looked  up,  straight 
at  those  words.  The  only  thought  I  had  was  an 
angry  one,  at  any  rate  a  bitter  one.  I  remembered 
that  I  had  heard  in  my  native  town  something  about 
this  Association  and  its  machinery  for  helping  young 
men  in  great  cities.  I  thought  to  myself,  '  Well, 
I'U  test  their  Christianity  !  '  I  crossed  the  road, 
entered  the  building,  and  went  up  to  the  second 
floor. 

"  My  manner  must  have  been  very  bad,  but  I 
think  it  was  in  keeping  with  my  appearance.  I 
went  straight  up  to  the  first  man  I  saw,  a  good- 
looking  and  rather  well-dressed  young  feUow,  and 
said,  '  I  want  a  job.'  It  was  really  more  in  the 
nature  of  a  challenge  than  anything  else  that  I 
had  come,  a  loud,  arrogant,  and  cynical  challenge, 
testing  this  religion  of  Christianity.  I  shaU  never 
forget  what  followed.  It  was  nothing  dramatic. 
It  was  nothing  that  can  be  said  in  actual  words. 
It  aU  came  from  the  look  in  that  man's  eyes  and  the 
tone  of  the  voice  in  which  he  answered  me.  AU  of 
a  sudden  the  miracle  had  happened.  Christianity 
was  a  real  thing. 

"  I  was  so  completely  aware  of  this  reality  that 
I  was  instantly  ashamed  of  the  way  in  which  I  had 
spoken.  The  young  man  did  not  give  me  time, 
however,  to  express  contrition.  He  asked  me  what 
work  I  could  do,  and  what  I  had  done  in  the  past. 
His  questions  were  quite  business-hke,  but  all  the 
time  there  was  that  look  in  his  eyes,  that  tone  in  his 
voice,  which — weU,  which  made  a  tremendous  dis- 


88  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

turbance  in  my  soul.  At  the  time,  of  course,  I  did 
not  analyse  my  feelings.  I  simply  accepted  the 
revelation  that  religion  was  a  real  thing.  And  even 
this  feeling  passed,  when  he  went  to  the  telephone 
and  I  knew  that  I  had  got  work.  Heavens,  how 
happy  I  was  ! 

"  He  spoke  to  me  about  rehgion,  in  a  perfectly 
sincere  and  whoUy  inoffensive  way  ;  but  I  did  not 
rehsh  a  colloquy,  and  simply  said  I  had  not  thought 
about  it.  He  said,  '  Well,  think  about  it  now  ;  no 
man  can  be  happy  outside  the  Kingdom  of  God.' 
I  said  I  would  think  about  it,  and  then  he  asked  me 
if  I  had  any  money.  He  lent  me  sixpence,  and  I 
bought  another  new  collar,  had  a  shave,  and  went  off 
to  my  work. 

"  The  man  to  whom  he  sent  me  has  a  Home  for 
boys.  I  shall  never  forget  him.  He  is  a  prince  of 
men.  From  the  first  moment  he  showed  me  kind- 
ness and  trusted  me.  He  gave  me  a  sovereign  in 
advance  of  my  wages,  and  did  it  so  naturally  and 
pleasantly  that  it  didn't  hurt.  I  began  to  think 
again  that  there  was  something  real  in  religion. 
And  then  I  saw  that  man's  life  and  work.  I  saw 
the  scum  of  the  gutter  brought  into  the  Home  and 
turned  into  the  cream  of  human  nature  before  my 
very  eyes.    I  looked  on,  wondered,  and  reflected. 

"  I  think  my  first  definite  step  to  what  I  now 
understand  as  religion  came  from  the  reflection 
that  these  people  helped  me  and  were  kind  to  me — 
helped  heaps  of  others  and  were  equally  kind  to 
them — because  they  were  religious.  I  knew  that 
there  was  nothing  Hkeable  in  me  ;  that  I  had  no 
rational  reason  to  suggest  why  I  should  be  helped 


THE    ACCIDENTS    OF    LIFE  89 

by  them;  and  that  therefore  it  must  be  for  some 
other  reason  that  they  were  so  very  kind  and  so 
willing  to  help  me. 

"  I  went  frequently  to  see  my  original  friend  at 
the  Association.  I  used  the  rooms  for  writing.  I 
liked  the  warmth.  I  hked  the  companionships  I 
found  there.  I  played  chess  ;  I  smoked  ;  I  read  the 
papers  ;  and  I  thought.  I  really  can't  teU  you 
what  passed  through  my  mind.  It  was  simply  a 
deepening  of  the  first  feeling.  I  grew  to  reflect  more 
and  more  upon  that  act  of  kindness  towards  me 
which  had  first  made  me  conscious  of  rehgion  as  a 
real  thing.  It  led  me  far  afield.  I  began  to  wonder 
if  there  are  really  any  accidents  in  life,  if  everything 
is  not  in  some  strange  way  invisibly  controlled  from 
without  us.  I  thought  of  the  sudden  inclination  at 
the  street  corner,  which  had  led  me  to  look  up  to 
those  windows  on  the  second  floor.  I  could  not 
explain  it.  I  saw  that  it  might  have  been  chance, 
but  I  felt  that  there  was  something  more  than  that 
in  it ;  I  could  not  rid  my  mind  of  the  idea  that  it 
was  destined. 

"  Then  I  began  to  wonder  about  refigion  as  a 
real  thing,  as  a  vital  principle  of  fife,  not  simply  as 
theology.  I  saw  that  these  men  I  met  at  the 
Association — and,  by  George,  they  are  men,  real 
men,  I  can  give  them  no  higher  title — were  not 
formahsts,  certainly  not  humbugs,  but  were  in  some 
strange  way,  a  way  that  at  flrst  seemed  to  me  a 
little  uncanny,  different  from  myself  and  the  men 
with  whom  I  had  hitherto  hved.  They  were  separate 
and  distinct.  I  observed  that  they  were  profoundly 
happy.    I  noticed  that  there  was  something  bright 


90  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

and  attractive  in  their  faces.    I  liked  their  manner, 
their  behaviour,  their  goodness  and  vigour,  which  I^ 
felt  to  be  extraordinarily  thorough. 

"  How  can  I  tell  you  the  rest  ?  It's  the  most 
difficult  of  aU.  In  fact,  even  to  myself,  I  can't 
express  it  in  words.  I  try  to  analyse  it,  but  I  can't. 
I  try  to  see  it  vividly,  but  it  eludes  me.  And  besides, 
it  isn't  a  thing,  it's  a  process  ;  and  I  don't  know 
myself  where  it  will  lead  me." 

I  spoke  about  the  two  forms  of  conversion — ^the 
swift  and  sudden  turning  about,  the  slow  and 
gradual  turning  round. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  he  repHed  ;  "  there  are  the 
two  things.  I've  heard  about  sudden  moments  of 
illumination,  flashes  of  light,  and  immediate  new 
birth  ;  but  nothing  like  that  has  occurred  to  me. 
No  ;  it's  altogether  different.  And  it's  going  on 
now,  just  as  I  suppose  most  men  feel  that  their 
spiritual  life  is  a  gradual  matter,  an  evolution,  an 
approach  to  something  always  ahead.  It  began 
with  me  the  very  moment  I  entered  the  Association, 
deepened  as  I  saw  the  hfe  Hved  by  the  men,  and  it 
came  to  something  rather  big  and  something  rather 
beautiful,  one  night,  at  a  service,  in  the  Association's 
room.  There  was  a  man  who  gave  an  address ; 
it  touched  me  ;  there  were  one  or  two  stories  in 
it  that  really  did  move  me  ;  and  afterwards  he 
came  and  spoke  to  me  ;  we  were  there,  I  think, 
till  after  midnight,  alone  together.  And — ^well,  you 
know  that  phrase  about  giving  the  heart  to  God  ? 
I  think  I  did  that  then.  WeU,  I  know  I  did.  I 
did,  that  night,  give  my  heart  to  God." 

He  paused  for  some  time. 


THE    ACCIDENTS    OF    LIFE  91 

"  Nothing  happened,"  he  continued,  "  except 
a  feehng  that  I  had  done  what  was  right,  and  that 
the  thing  would  work  itself  out.  It's  working  itself 
out  now.  There  is  a  difference  in  me,  but  I  can't 
define  it.  I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  am  happy, 
and  that  I  look  back  on  all  that  I  went  through  as 
something  that  was  necessary.  It  has  a  meaning 
for  me.  Perhaps  that  is  my  illumination — the 
feehng  that  everything  in  life  is  Hnked  up  and  that 
God  is  at  work.  There  are  no  accidents.  But  we 
can't  explain  these  ideas,  these  feelings,  which 
swim  in  the  soul.  They  are  there,  and  if  we  let  them, 
they  will  control  us." 

Very  soon  after  this  deHverance  from  despair, 
and  this  turning  about  to  the  hght,  he  received  a 
letter  in  answer  to  an  application  he  had  made 
months  before  for  a  situation  on  a  provincial  news- 
paper. 

"  That  is  another  thing,"  he  said,  "  that  struck  me 
as  mysterious.  I  saw  the  advertisement  in  a  paper 
when  I  was  beginning  to  go  rather  badly  down  ;  I 
spent  a  penny  on  answering  it,  and  the  next  day 
forgot  aU  about  it.  If  the  answer  had  come  at  once, 
I  should  never  have  had  this  experience  of  con- 
version ;  and  it  has  come  just  when  I  want  it. 
Of  course,  it  may  only  be  coincidence.  But  it 
seems  mysterious.  At  any  rate,  I  feel  certain  that 
things  have  happened  to  me  from  outside  myself. 
And  I  can't  believe  that  there  are  any  accidents." 

However  far  he  may  be  from  the  "  central 
touch,"  the  absolute  union  of  the  soul,  at  any  rate 
he  has  escaped  from  the  isolation  of  his  former  hfe. 


CHAPTER   V 
A   BAD   HAT 

AT  the  age  of  seventeen  he  was  sent  out  to 
-  Canada.  His  parents  felt  that  England 
was  not  big  enough  for  his  energies.  "  All  I  hope 
is  this,"  said  the  father,  "  that  you  won't  Hve  to 
be  hanged."  He  had  once  thrown  a  table-knife  at 
his  mother. 

He  is  a  man  of  forty,  bright,  alert,  and  animated. 
His  appearance  is  decidedly  handsome,  and  he 
rather  lays  himself  out,  one  thinks,  to  heighten 
these  natural  advantages.  He  is  very  well  dressed, 
carefully  groomed,  and  suggests  prosperous  circum- 
stances— perhaps  a  good  conceit  as  well.  You 
would  pass  him  in  the  street  for  a  successful  stock- 
broker. I  really  do  not  think  that  one  man  in  a 
miUion  would  guess  for  a  single  instant  that  the 
extraordinary  thing  had  happened  to  him. 

"  When  I  went  to  Canada,"  he  told  me,  "  the 
only  bad  things  about  me  were  temper  and  a  love 
of  devilry  for  its  own  sake.  My  temper  started 
when  I  was  quite  a  chicken.  I  was  turned  out  of 
the  Sunday-school  again  and  again  ;  I  had  rather 
a  decent  voice  and  sang  in  the  church  choir,  but 
they  hoofed  me  out  of  that  as  well.  I  was  for 
ever  doing  wild  things,  and  then  rushing  into  a 

d2 


A    BAD    HAT  93 

blazing  temper  directly  I  was  called  to  account. 
But  I  had  moments  of  remarkable  gentleness ; 
there  were  times  when  I  was  even  tender  and 
affectionate,  particularly  with  my  mother.  It 
used  to  be  a  saying  with  my  father  that  I  was 
either  a  Hon  or  a  lamb.  In  my  gentle  moments  I 
wanted  to  be  good  ;  in  my  wild  moments  I  had 
but  one  single  concern,  and  that  was  to  keep  out 
of  prison.  I  didn't  care  what  I  did,  so  long  as  I 
was  not  laid  by  the  heels." 

I  asked  him  if  the  rehgion  he  was  taught  in 
Sunday-school,  and  the  religion  he  heard  about  in 
church,  had  had  any  conscious  effect  upon  his  mind. 

"  I  don't  think,"  he  rephed,  "  it  made  the  smallest 
difference  to  me.  In  Sunday-school  I  was  always 
thinking  of  larks  and  mischief  ;  and  in  church, 
beyond  the  singing,  which  simply  interested  me 
as  singing,  I  was  only  bored  to  death  by  the  repe- 
tition of  prayers  and  the  intolerable  length  of  the 
sermons.  I  went  to  church  far  too  often  to  care 
about  it.  At  last  it  got  on  my  nerves,  and  I  didn't 
go  at  aU." 

Then  he  told  me  about  the  change  which  came 
over  him  in  America. 

"  I  worked  on  a  line  of  steamers  among  the 
lakes.  It  was  a  wild  part  of  the  world.  My  mates 
represented  every  class  of  Enghshman.  Some 
were  scholars,  some  were  gentlemen,  some  were 
working-men  ;  and  the  whole  crowd  of  them  were 
blackguards.  They  thought  of  absolutely  nothing 
but  drink  and  vice.  There  was  one  Uttle  station 
on  a  certain  lake  where  all  the  houses  were  occu- 
pied by  women  who  were  far  more  Hke  fiends  than 


94  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

human  beings.  Men  used  to  go  there  from  the 
neighbouring  towns.  When  any  of  our  fellows 
rowed  out,  the  women  would  come  right  into  the 
water  to  meet  them,  wearing  no  clothes  at  aU.  .  .  . 
"  I  soon  got  sick  of  hfe  aboard  ship,  and  managed 
to  get  some  work  in  the  States.  Someone  recom- 
mended me  to  a  boarding-house  in  the  town  where 
my  job  lay.  It  was  managed  by  a  woman  whose 
husband  was  an  old  humpbacked  veteran,  half  silly 
or,  at  any  rate,  unnaturally  quiet  and  self-absorbed. 
He  used  to  sit  all  day  in  a  rocking-chair  on  the 
verandah,  one  leg  over  the  arm,  swinging  himself 
slowly  to  and  fro,  a  sad,  far-away  sort  of  smile  on 
his  face,  his  eyes  looking  straight  ahead  of  him — 
a  most  queer  and  sad  old  man.  And  his  wife — well, 
she  was  a  demon.  That  woman  got  hold  of  me, 
and  I  was  powerless  in  her  hands.  Not  only  that, 
there  were  two  unmarried  girls  in  the  house,  and 
they  were  just  as  bad  as  the  woman.  .  .  .  When 
I  look  back  now,  I  see  that  that  house  was  like 
heU.  I  didn't  think  so  at  first,  and  I  didn't  see 
it  as  it  reaUy  was  even  when  I  left.  I  used  to 
laugh  at  the  poor  old  humpbacked  man  in  the 
rocking-chair.  I  was  proud  of  my  attractions. 
Life  seemed  to  me,  at  first,  highly  amusing  and 
exciting.  I  was  young,  tremendously  strong,  and 
fancied  my  good  looks.  Besides  this,  I  was  some- 
thing of  a  fighting-man,  and  took  pride  in  making 
myself  cock  of  the  walk.  I  Uked  to  feel  that  men 
feared  me.  I  hked  to  know  that  I  was  pointed  out 
as  a  terror.  I  worked  hard,  made  money,  and 
lived  Hke  a  real  bad  one.  Those  who  called  me 
a  bad  hat  weren't  far  out. 


A    BAD    HAT  95 

"  Of  course,  I  never  once  thought  of  going  to 
church.  For  one  reason,  there  was  not  a  single 
white  man's  church  in  the  place.  There  were  a 
few  nigger  churches  about,  and  I  would  sometimes 
go  there  with  a  friend  or  two,  just  for  the  fun  of 
hearing  a  nigger  preach.  We  used  to  make  game 
of  the  poor  fellows,  used  to  laugh  at  them,  just 
as  if  we  were  in  a  theatre.  Religion  didn't  occupy 
my  mind  in  any  way,  and  this  nigger  religion  only 
seemed  to  me  a  thing  for  amusement. 

"  But  after  some  months,  nearly  a  year,  I  was 
suddenly  visited  by  the  most  intense  feeling  of 
home-sickness.  I  can't  tell  you  how  it  came,  and 
perhaps  the  cause  was  only  physical  exhaustion, 
but  anyhow  I  felt  such  a  tugging  of  my  heart  home- 
wards as  was  absolutely  irresistible.  I  got  to  hate 
the  town,  to  hate  my  work,  to  hate  the  saloons, 
and  to  loathe — oh  yes,  to  loathe — those  women 
and  the  boarding-house.  It  became  unbearable. 
The  feehng  that  I  must  go  home  was  most  intense. 

"  One  day  I  sold  everything  up,  and  started 
home.  There  was  nothing  in  my  heart  of  repent- 
ance, no  shame  for  the  life  I  had  been  living,  no 
desire  for  goodness.  I  was  simply  filled  with  a 
giant  disgust,  a  feeling  that  I  must  get  away,  a 
kind  of  ravenous  hunger  to  be  home  in  England. 
That  was  all.  But  looking  back  now  I  see  what 
was  really  happening  to  me  at  that  time.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  a  most  marvellous  mercy. 

"  Well,  I  got  home  at  last,  welcomed  with  tears 
of  rejoicing  by  my  mother,  and  not  too  warmly 
received  by  my  father.  However,  I  had  sobered 
down  a  bit,  and  soon  made  it  clear  that  I  intended 


96  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

to  get  work  and  stick  to  it.  My  father  was  evi- 
dently relieved  by  this  change  in  me.  He  took 
steps  to  help  me,  and  at  the  age  of  twenty  I  found 
myself  in  the  employ  of  Government. 

*'  For  some  months  I  hved  a  more  or  less  regular 
Hfe,  my  only  real  trial  that  hotness  of  temper  which 
seemed  to  get  worse  the  more  virtuously  and  tem- 
perately I  lived.  At  the  sHghtest  provocation  I 
would  hit  a  man,  and  many  a  big  fight  marked  my 
calendar  of  those  days.  I  don't  suppose  anybody 
but  a  man  who  has  suffered  in  this  way  can  under- 
stand the  violence  and  savagery  of  a  really  fiery 
temper.  The  smallest  thing  sets  the  blood  boihng. 
The  least  contradiction  in  an  argument  is  in- 
sufferable. Let  one  little  thing  go  wrong  in  dress- 
ing or  in  eating  or  in  working,  and  you  want  to 
chuck  the  whole  caboodle  out  of  the  window. 

"  There  was  an  old  man  working  close  at  my  side 
in  this  Government  office,  a  really  dear  old  fellow, 
who  quite  quietly,  quite  gradually,  estabUshed  a 
feeling  of  friendship  in  my  heart.  I  got  to  like 
him,  and  we  would  talk  together,  and  look  at  each 
other  as  men  do  when  there  is  an  understanding  of 
soul  between  them.  We  would  go  out  to  luncheon 
together.  He  used  to  ask  me  about  Canada  and  the 
States.  I  told  him  stories  and  he  would  listen  with 
interest.  Gradually,  and  I  cannot  recall  how  it 
came  about,  the  dear  old  man  used  to  talk  about 
life  and  conduct,  about  the  difference  between 
goodness  and  wickedness.  I  was  interested,  and 
gave  my  opinion  in  the  downright  fashion  which 
characterised  my  manner  in  those  days.  He  never 
showed   the   least   resentment,    and    would   listen 


A    BAD    HAT  97 

patiently,  and  reply  very  gently,  always  like  a 
man  of  the  world  who  is  not  easily  shocked  or  un- 
naturally good. 

"  But  one  day  he  said  to  me,  '  Why  don't  you 
come  with  me  to  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Asso- 
ciation ?  Do  you  know,  I  think  you'd  enjoy  it. 
There  are  some  very  pleasant  fellows  up  there,  and 
we  get  some  really  good  intelligent  conversations.' 
The  name.  Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  gave 
me  a  kind  of  shudder.  I  almost  laughed  ;  I  almost 
scoffed.  But  he  went  on  speaking  so  simply  and 
naturally,  that  I  forgot  this  first  feeling,  and  finally 
said  I  would  go  with  him  one  day.  To  this  he 
answered,  '  There's  an  Indian  missionary  over  here 
just  now,  a  very  fine  man,  a  Hindu  Christian  ;  he 
is  speaking  at  Exeter  Hall  on  the  Opium  Question  ; 
you  ought  to  hear  him. — Wliat  do  you  say  if 
we  go  to-morrow  in  the  dinner-hour  ?  '  I  said, 
'  All  right ;  if  you're  going,  I'll  go  with  you  ' ;  and 
never  gave  the  matter  another  thought  till  next  day. 

"  And  that  next  day  was  the  beginning  of  my 
awakening.  The  Hindu  was  a  fine  speaker,  and  a 
very  impressive  man  altogether.  As  I  sat  and 
listened  to  him  I  was  fascinated.  Then  the  horror 
of  opium  seized  upon  me.  Then  the  thought  that 
England,  my  country,  was  concerned  in  the  trade, 
set  me  on  fire  with  indignation.  My  blood  began 
to  boil.  I  wanted  to  start  off  then  and  there,  to 
fight  the  devihsh  thing.  I  could  see  the  homes  of 
men  and  women  brought  to  desolation  by  the 
poisonous  drug,  I  could  see  children  turned  out 
upon  the  road  to  die  of  starvation,  I  could  see  the 
souls  of  milUons  going  down  to  perdition,  rotten 


98  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

and  corrupted  and  destroyed.    And  England  made 

money  out  of  it.    Not  only  permitted  it,  but  profited 

by  it — profited  by  the  ruin  of  millions  of  helpless 

men.    I  tell  you,  my  blood  was  on  fire.    I  wanted  to 

start  up,  then  and  there,  and  be  off  to  do  something. 

I  didn't  think  what,  but  anything  to  stop  this  most 

damnable  shame." 

He  had  never  thought,  in  the  midst  of  his  own 

sins,  how  he  dragged  souls  down  to  ruin.     It  had 

never  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  responsibiHty 

towards   those   who   tempted   him   and   to   whose 

temptations  he  so  readily  yielded.     He  had  never 

once  experienced  the  agony  of  that  emotion  which 

cried  out  to  God  from  the  soul  of  a  saint — 

Wilt  Thou  forgive  that  sin  which  I  have  won 
Others  to  sin,  and  made  my  sin  their  door  ? 

But  now,  confronted  with  the  thousandfold  desola- 
tions wrought  by  a  sin  in  which  he  had  never  shared, 
his  soul  revolted,  and  he  was  consumed  with  a 
passionate  indignation.  He  ranged  himself  incon- 
tinently on  the  side  of  righteousness.  He  was  ready, 
on  the  instant,  to  rise  up  and  strike  for  God. 

From  that  moment  he  was  facing  in  the  right 
direction.  It  is  clear  that  his  eyes  were  not  yet 
opened,  that  his  heart  was  far  from  being  cleansed, 
and  that  the  mystery  of  the  new  birth  had  not  yet 
changed  and  transformed  his  whole  nature.  Never- 
theless, in  the  sense  that  he  had  swung  clean  round, 
was  no  longer  facing  away  from  God,  but  was  facing 
towards  God,  he  was  at  that  moment  converted. 
The  fuU  conversion  of  spirit  was  soon  to  follow. 

For  a  week  he  talked  to  his  old  friend  at  the 
Government  office  about  the  Opium  Trade,  about 


A    BAD    HAT  99 

Christianity,  about  the  life  of  the  soul.  At  the 
end  of  this  period,  willingly  and  eagerly,  he  accom- 
panied his  friend  to  a  spiritual  meeting  of  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association. 

The  speaker  on  this  occasion  dealt  with  the  neces- 
sity for  a  hfe  of  service. 

"  One  word,"  the  man  told  me,  "  rang  through 
all  he  said.  It  was  the  word  Work.  He  insisted 
again  and  again  that  no  man  could  truly  be  said 
to  love  Christ  who  did  not  work  for  Him.  Any 
man  who  deeply  realised  that  the  beautiful  and 
holy  Christ  was  his  Saviour  and  his  Redeemer, 
would  work  for  Him  and  fight  for  Him  against  the 
hosts  of  evil. 

"  That  word  Work  stuck  in  my  mind.  It  seemed 
to  be  echoing  itself  in  my  soul.  All  the  time  he 
was  speaking  I  was  saying  to  myself,  Work,  work, 
work — knowing  that  it  was  true,  and  wondering 
how  I  could  work  for  Christ.  I  wanted  to  work. 
I  was  eager  to  do  something.  But  I  couldn't  see 
what  I  should  do.  It  was  perfectly  clear  to  me, 
as  clear  as  daylight,  that  if  a  man  really  once  felt 
that  he  owed  Christ  an  immense  debt,  he  would 
work  day  and  night  for  his  triumph  over  sin.  That 
was  quite  clear.  But  how  to  work,  what  kind  of 
work — that  puzzled  me. 

"  After  the  address  came  a  prayer,  and  in  the 
prayer  was  the  word  armour.  Man  had  to  put  on 
the  whole  armour  of  Christ.  Before  he  could  do 
anything  for  his  Saviour,  before  he  could  safely 
attack  the  enemy,  he  had  to  put  on  that  Saviour's 
armour.  I  remember,  as  if  it  was  yesterday,  the 
question  springing  up  in  my  mind,  Have  I  got  that 


100  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

armour  ?  It  was  like  a  sudden  cry  of,  '  Hands  up  ! ' 
on  a  dark  road.  It  jerked  me  right  back  upon  myself. 
I  was  startled,  confused,  frightened.  I  felt  abso- 
lutely helpless. 

"  Then  it  dawned  upon  me,  and  it  must  have 
been  a  message  from  God,  that  the  armour  of 
Christ  was  faith  —  faith  in  Him  as  Saviour  and 
Redeemer.  Difficulties  against  believing  that  came 
crowding  into  my  soul,  like  a  swarm  of  living 
things.  For  a  moment  I  was  bewildered.  How 
could  I  believe  when  I  didn't  believe  ?  What  was 
the  use  of  saying  I  would  have  faith  in  Christ  as 
my  Saviour  and  Redeemer  when  the  faith  was 
absent  from  my  brain  ?  While  these  chaotic 
thoughts  were  chasing  themselves  about  in  my 
troubled  mind  I  realised,  all  of  a  sudden,  that  the 
soul  could  seize  upon  faith,  seize  it  and  hold  it  by 
one  tremendous  effort,  in  spite  of  every  difficulty 
in  the  mind.  As  I  reafised  that,  I  asked  myself 
if  I  had  strength  for  the  effort.  I  remembered  my 
sins.  I  felt  my  infamy  and  guilt.  I  was  conscious 
of  a  great  need  for  a  Saviour.  Then  I  knew  I  had 
strength  for  the  effort. 

"  There  was  a  caU  at  the  end  of  the  meeting  for 
those  who  felt  their  need  of  a  Saviour  to  stand  up 
and  make  their  Decision  then  and  there.  I  stood 
up.  The  very  act  of  getting  up,  publicly  getting 
up,  and  by  the  very  fact  of  standing  up  pubficly 
confessing  my  need  for  a  Saviour,  seemed  to  change 
my  whole  nature.  At  that  moment  I  was  converted. 
There  is  no  question  about  it,  no  getting  away  from 
the  fact,  and  no  possibility  of  thinking  that  I  de- 
ceived myself.    And  I  wiU  tell  you  why  I  say  that. 


A    BAD    HAT  101 

If  only  my  ordinary  sins  had  ceased  from  that 
moment  I  might  perhaps  be  tempted  to  think  that 
just  deep  emotion  produced  some  kind  of  change 
in  my  mind  which  a  psychologist  could  explain. 
But  something  much  more  wonderful  occurred  to  me, 
and  occurred  instantaneously — something  that  no 
psychologist  can  explain,  and  no  psychologist,  un- 
less he  is  a  Christian,  can  understand.  From  that 
moment  my  temper  departed,  like  a  devil  cast  out 
by  the  power  of  God. 

"  That  was  what  staggered  me,  and  even  now, 
all  these  long  years  afterwards,  I  look  back  with 
amazement  on  that  tremendous  miracle.  For  I 
beheve  truly  that  I  was  one  of  the  hottest-tempered 
men  that  ever  lived.  My  temper  was  infinitely 
worse  than  all  my  other  sins  lumped  together.  I 
was  sensual  enough,  God  knows,  but  not  ever- 
lastingly ;  there  were  periods  when  the  very  thought 
of  such  sins  disgusted  me  and  made  me  feel  sick  ; 
I  was  never  wholly  unconscious  of  the  pleasure  which 
comes  from  wholesome  exercise  and  manly  sports 
and  clean  habits.  But  my  temper  was  the  very 
core  of  me.  It  was  my  life's  blood,  the  beat  of  my 
heart,  the  pulsation  of  my  brain.  I  simply  couldn't 
brook  interference.  Authority  was  galhng  to  me. 
A  man  had  on]y  to  offer  me  the  slightest  insult  to 
get  my  fist  in  his  face.  As  to  forgiving  an  injury — 
why,  I  should  have  laughed  at  such  a  thing. 

"  But  conversion  changed  me — instantaneously, 
mind  you — into  absolute  peace  of  mind.  I  lost  all 
sense  of  heat  and  tempest  and  obstruction.  Life 
was  clear  sailing.  I  could  see  far  ahead  of  me,  and 
was  easy  in  my  mind,  as  easy  as  a  little  child. 


102  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

"  To  show  you  how  complete  was  the  change. 
At  this  time  my  old  friend  joined  a  society  which 
worked  for  abstinence  from  alcohol  and  tobacco. 
Men  who  belonged  to  it  wore  in  their  button- 
holes a  little  blue  ribbon  with  a  white  line  down  the 
centre.  Well,  he  got  me  to  join.  I  had  liked  drink, 
and  I  was  a  great  smoker ;  but  I  experienced 
no  difficulty  in  giving  up  both  these  habits.  I 
wore  the  ribbon  in  my  coat.  Immediately,  I  be- 
came the  target  for  jokes  among  the  other  men  at 
the  office.  They  saw  I  was  converted,  lost  their 
former  fear  of  me,  and  took  advantage  of  my  re- 
ligion to  tease  and  chaff  and  even  mock  me.  Well, 
I  never  minded  it  in  the  least.  And  only  a  few 
days  before,  mind  you,  I  should  have  been  all  over 
them  in  a  moment  !  " 

He  smiled  and  looked  at  me  with  the  very  straight 
gaze  of  a  hard-punching  man,  the  teeth  locked,  the 
chin  protruded,  a  nod  of  the  head  giving  emphasis 
to  the  words,  "  I  should  have  been  aU  over  them 
in  a  moment." 

The  strange  story  of  this  man's  eventful  life  does 
not  end  with  his  conversion.  He  became  a  member 
of  a  London  church,  and  there  fell  in  with  a  beauti- 
ful and  noble  girl  for  whom  he  speedily  contracted 
a  great  affection.  She  was  destined  to  exert  a  re- 
markable influence  on  his  life. 

There  was  in  her  rich  and  noble  nature  something 
of  that  depth  and  mysticism  which  make  the  earhest 
women  of  Methodism  as  beautiful  in  modern  eyes 
as  the  most  enchanting  of  the  medieval  saints. 
Her  whole  character  had  the  spiritual  atmosphere 
of  Adam  Bede.    To  the  sweetness  and  humanity  of 


A    BAD    HAT  103 

her  nature  was  added  a  profound  tenderness,  an 
almost  sorrowful  beauty  of  faith  which  conferred 
upon  her  presence  and  breathed  from  her  personality 
something  sacred  and  exalted.  In  the  midst  of 
modern  London,  surrounded  by  all  the  vulgarity 
and  coarseness  of  our  period,  this  noble  girl  hved  an 
existence  of  beauty  and  tranquillity. 

As  soon  as  he  became  engaged  to  such  an  inspiring 
creature,  the  man  was  filled  with  desire  for  a  wider 
and  more  splendid  life.  London  became  oppressive 
to  him.  The  darlaiess,  the  poverty,  the  tragedy, 
the  sunken  degradation,  misery,  and  destitution 
which  crowd  upon  the  soul  from  every  side  of  the 
vast  unhappy  city,  grew  intolerable  to  his  heart  and 
brain. 

"  I  could  feel  Canada  calling  to  me,"  he  said, 
"  just  as  if  it  was  a  human  being  calhng  to  me  by 
name  across  the  sea.  Honestly,  it  was  just  like  a 
voice,  a  human  voice.  And  I  longed  to  go,  simply 
longed  to  shake  the  dust  of  London  off  my  feet,  and 
get  out  there  at  once — into  the  big,  wholesome  land 
with  its  pure  air  and  its  clean  skies." 

He  told  his  desire  to  her  whom  it  most  con- 
cerned. He  was  surprised  to  find  that  she  made 
no  appeal  for  him  to  stay.  Her  dark,  haunting 
eyes  regarded  him  with  quiet  searching  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  she  said,  "  Yes,  go  ;  it  is  a  good 
move  ;  it  will  bring  a  blessing."  He  spoke  of  his 
hopes  about  getting  land  near  the  railway,  hundreds 
of  acres  of  land,  and  making  a  comfortable  income 
as  a  farmer  ;  they  would  be  wonderfully  happy 
together.  She  smiled,  and  listened,  and  said 
nothing  till  the  end.    Then  she  said  to  him,  "  Will 


104  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

you  promise  me  one  thing  ? — ^Whatever  happens 
to  you,  good  fortune  or  bad  fortune,  promise  me 
that  you  will  never  lose  your  faith.  Keey  believing. 
Keep  'believing.''''  She  smiled  at  him,  and  added, 
"  That  is  our  motto,  yours  over  there  and  mine 
waiting  here.    Keep  believing  !  " 

A  friend  of  his  had  the  same  inchnation  towards 
Canada.  This  man  was  a  fine  and  splendid  charac- 
ter, just  the  very  partner  one  would  desire  for  a  new 
venture.  He  was  an  ordinary  upright  and  pro- 
fessing Christian,  but  had  never  experienced  a  pro- 
found change  of  heart.  For  the  rest,  he  was  a 
steady,  moral,  industrious,  and  ambitious  man — 
the  very  salt  of  those  who  carry  England's  best 
traditions  into  other  lands. 

The  two  started  together.  Arrived  in  Canada, 
one  went  one  way  and  one  the  other,  prospecting 
for  land.  The  man  whose  story  I  am  telling  was 
struck  down  by  an  attack  of  rheumatic  fever  soon 
after  this  separated  quest  had  begun.  Letters  from 
the  saint  in  England  had  regularly  arrived  with 
two  httle  capitals  in  the  corner  of  the  envelope — 
''K.B."  And  at  the  end  of  each  letter  those  same 
two  capitals  always  appeared  below  the  signature, 
the  last  message  from  her  soul.  The  man  took  to 
his  bed,  determined  to  keep  his  promise.  His  letters 
and  envelopes,  too,  had  always  carried  that  signal 
back  to  England.  He  was  strong  and  steadfast. 
At  all  costs,  he  would  Keep  Believing. 

The  time  came  when  fever  carried  his  conscious- 
ness into  the  region  of  delirium.  He  was  lying  in 
the  bedroom  of  an  hotel  that  had  not  long  been 
built  and  yet  was  almost  as  old  as  the  town  in 


A    BAD    HAT  105 

which  it  flourished.  His  bedroom  window  opened 
on  the  pubhc  square.  All  day  long  a  procession  of 
vehicles  passed  across  this  centre  of  a  new  market. 
At  night,  when  the  whole  place  blazed  with  electric 
light,  the  square  was  very  often  discordant  with 
drunken  voices  and  the  sound  of  degradation 
striving  to  sing  itself  into  happiness. 

The  man  who  had  put  on  the  whole  armour  of 
Christ  lay  and  tossed  on  his  bed,  doctors  and 
nurses  watching  the  struggle  of  his  soul. 

One  afternoon  familiar  music  came  to  his  ears. 
He  listened  intently.  The  music  became  clear.  He 
realised  that  it  was  close  at  hand,  just  outside  and 
below  his  window.  He  had  no  notion  why  he  lay 
in  bed,  nor  where  he  was  ;  but  he  listened  to  the 
music,  glad  that  it  was  so  near.  It  was  a  hymn. 
Above  the  din  of  the  band  he  could  hear  the  voices 
of  men  and  women,  singing  words  which  he  knew 
by  heart. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you  what  that  hymn 
did  for  me,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "  It  was  some- 
thing very  quiet  and  beautiful ;  it  seemed  to  flow 
into  my  soul  with  a  message  of  peace,  and  to  touch 
me,  at  the  very  heart  of  my  being,  with  the  thought 
of  God's  Presence.  I  seemed  too,  at  that  very 
moment,  to  know  all  that  had  happened  to  me.  I 
turned  to  the  nurse  and  asked  what  band  was 
playing.  She  replied,  '  Oh,  it's  only  one  of  those 
Missions  ;  does  it  worry  you  ?  '  I  smiled,  and  said, 
'  No  ;  it  doesn't  worry  me.'  Then  I  closed  my  eyes 
and  lay  thinking. 

"  Without  any  excitement  or  wonder  in  my 
mind,  I  knew  then  and  there  what  I  had  got  to  do. 


106  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

Without  surprise,  I  found  that  all  my  plans  and 
ambitions  had  vanished.  I  accepted,  without  the 
smallest  demur,  my  new  destiny.  And  it  seemed 
the  most  beautiful  thing  that  had  come  to  me. 
I  was  going  to  give  up  everything,  embrace  poverty, 
and  become  a  missioner. 

"  The  next  day  as  I  lay  in  bed,  with  closed  eyes, 
thinking  of  this  new  life,  I  heard  the  doctors  whisper- 
ing together  and  expressing  doubts  as  to  my  re- 
covery. I  learned  afterwards  that  it  was  a  special 
consultation  ;  there  were  no  fewer  than  five  doctors, 
for  I  was  on  the  very  verge  of  death.  I  opened  my 
eyes,  looked  at  the  doctors,  smiled,  and  said, 
'  Don't  be  anxious  ;  I'm  not  going  to  die  ;  my  life 
has  only  just  begun  !  '  It  was  no  utterance  of 
delirium.  I  remember  saying  it.  And  I  meant  it. 
I  felt  that  I  had  been  born  again. 

"  Directly  I  got  well,  and  was  able  to  walk,  I  went 
to  the  local  Mission  and  offered  myself  for  ser- 
vice. I  wrote  home  and  told  the  news.  I  knew 
that  whatever  happened,  however  it  was  received, 
I  should  have  to  go  on.  I  looked  that  sacrifice  in 
the  face,  and  was  prepared  to  make  it.  Everything 
seemed  ordered  for  me,  as  if  it  must  be  and  had 
to  be. 

"  One  thing  puzzled  me,  and  that  concerned  my 
friend.  He  had  not  returned,  nor  sent  me  a  line. 
I  wanted  to  write  and  teU  him  of  this  great  altera- 
tion in  my  ideas,  to  prepare  him  for  the  change  in 
his  plans  which,  of  course,  it  entailed  ;  but  I  didn't 
know  where  to  find  him. 

"  Then  a  strange  thing,  an  extraordinary  thing, 
occurred.     My  friend  arrived  and  announced  that 


A    BAD    HAT  107 

he  had  abandoned  all  idea  of  farming,  as  he  had  been 
greatly  influenced  by  the  same  Mission  in  British 
Columbia  and  intended  to  give  up  his  life  to  that 
service.  While  I  had  come  to  a  similar  resolution 
in  Eastern  Canada,  he — unconverted  till  that  mo- 
ment— had  surrendered  to  the  same  influence  in 
Western  Canada,  nearly  four  thousand  miles  away  ! 
We  had  both  gone  to  Canada,  keen  and  ambitious 
young  men,  to  make  our  fortunes,  and  thinking  of 
little  else.  We  had  discussed  again  and  again  our 
plans,  our  schemes,  our  hopes.  We  had  talked 
grain,  stock,  implements,  and  labour  for  months 
together.  And  now — at  our  first  meeting  after  a 
separation  to  fulfil  all  these  fine  dreams — we  each 
discovered  that  the  other  partner  had  determined 
to  become  a  missioner  ! 

"  When  I  received  the  anxiously  awaited  letter 
from  home  I  was  still  further  startled  by  the 
mysterious.  She  knew  I  should  not  become  a 
farmer,  she  wrote,  and  she  knew  that  I  would 
become  a  missioner.  She  had  been  perfectly  cer- 
tain of  this  before  I  started,  and  it  was  what 
she  herself  desired  above  anything  else.  But  there 
was  bad  news  in  this  letter  as  well.  Her  parents 
would  not  hear  of  her  marriage  to  a  missioner, 
and  would  not  permit  her  to  become  a  missioner 
either  in  England  or  Canada.  However,  she  com- 
forted me  by  saying  that  everything  would  pre- 
sently work  out  as  we  both  wished,  and  she  con- 
cluded with  a  strong  and  underlined  *  K.B.,'  which 
now  had  an  interpretation  for  my  heart  as  well  as 
for  my  soul.  I  tell  you  I  clung  to  that  '  K.B.' 
with  both  hands  ! 


108  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

"  And  all  turned  out  weU.  Her  parents  yielded  ; 
I  sent  home  the  money  for  her  passage  ;  and  she 
came  out  to  me,  longing,  simply  longing,  for  the 
work.  She  made  a  magnificent  sister  of  mercy. 
For  nearly  nine  years  we  Uved  and  laboured  in 
America,  getting  to  know  the  human  heart  and  the 
tragedy  of  hfe  as  neither  of  us  knew  it  before,  for 
our  work  lay  among  the  broken  men  of  all  classes 
who  turn  to  a  rehgious  Mission  for  help  when  they 
get  right  down  to  rock  level.  We  worked  both  in 
Canada  and  the  States.  Sometimes  it  was  thrilling 
work  ;  sometimes  encouraging  ;  sometimes  heart- 
breaking ;  but  all  through  my  wife  was  simply 
splendid,  and  absolutely  gave  herself  up  to  it.  Her 
faith — well,  I've  never  come  across  anything  hke  it. 
It  seems  as  if  she  knows  what  God  is  going  to  do." 

The  rest  of  the  story  is  an  uneventful  history  of 
development  and  progress.  An  opportunity  for  very 
much  more  extended  and  responsible  work  among 
outcasts  and  miserables  presented  itself  after  these 
nine  years  in  America. 

For  eight  years  the  man  was  a  great  and 
steady  force  in  an  agency  which  deals  with  social 
failures.  By  his  influence  the  entirely  social  and 
humanitarian  nature  of  this  work  was  given  a  re- 
ligious consecration.  He  did  a  noble  work  among 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of  unhappy  people. 

And  now  he  occupies  a  high  and  responsible 
position  in  one  of  the  great  trading  concerns  of  the 
empire  ;  but  one  of  those  undertakings  which  even 
while  they  remain  purely  commercial  play  an  enor- 
mous part  in  the  restoration  of  fallen  and  degraded 
manhood.    His  work  still  Hes  with  helping  the  weak. 


A    BAD    HAT  109 

"  No  one,"  he  once  said  to  me,  speaking  of  his 
life's  work,  "  could  see  such  misery  and  wreckage 
as  I  have  seen,  and  am  Mkely  to  see  till  the  end 
of  my  days,  without  coming  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  most  serious  thing  in  the  whole  world  is  sin. 
People  who  make  light  of  sin  can  really  know  nothing 
of  the  world.  Its  consequences  are  something  fright- 
ful. They  cannot  be  exaggerated.  And  it's  not 
only  such  obvious  things  as  drink,  gambling,  and 
sensuality  in  general,  but  what  are  called  spiritual 
sins — pride,  selfishness,  snobbery,  vanity,  and  miser- 
liness— they,  too,  very  often,  more  often  than  people 
think,  drag  human  nature  down  into  dirty  water, 
very  dirty  water. 

"  And  I'll  teU  you  something  else  I'm  certain 
about,  after  a  pretty  long  and  varied  experience. 
The  very  means  which  society  employs  to  minister 
to  misery,  without  religion,  can  be  turned  by  misery 
against  society,  for  its  own  undoing.  Take,  for  one 
instance,  the  model,  municipal,  and  charitable 
lodging-houses  which  are  now  being  set  up  all  over 
the  place.  On  the  face  of  it  they  are  perfectly 
splendid  ;  nothing  could  be  better  ;  compared  with 
the  old  and  horrible  doss-house  they  are  like  heaven. 
But  go  inside,  talk  to  the  men  you  find  there  !  Do 
you  think  they  want  to  reform  ?  Not  they  !  Do 
you  think  they  are  conscious  of  shame  ?  Not  a 
bit  of  it !  Do  you  think  they  are  making  a  single 
effort  to  become  good  and  useful  citizens  ?  Not 
one  in  a  hundred  !  Why  ? — because  it's  all  made 
so  very  cheap  and  comfortable  for  them.  A  man 
can  nowadays  slip  away  from  his  wife  and  children, 
burrow  into  one  of  these  fine  houses,  be  lost  to  all 


110  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

who  know  him,  and  support  himself  quite  easily, 
like  a  prince,  on  an  hour's  work  in  the  market  or 
three  hours'  cadging  in  the  streets.  They  hve  better, 
these  fellows,  a  jolly  sight  better,  than  the  honest 
workman  who  has  to  rent  a  house  and  support  a 
family. 

"  Religion  is  the  one  means  whereby  a  man  can 
be  changed  from  bad  to  good.  Charity  tan  change 
him  from  poor  to  rich  ;  philanthropy  can  change 
him  from  hungry  to  filled  ;  county  councils  and 
local  rates  can  change  him  from  homeless  to  housed  ; 
but  nothmg  except  religion  can  change  him  from 
bad  to  good.  Let  society  try,  and  see  if  they  can 
do  it. 

"  And,  of  course,  I  don't  mean  a  merely  formal 
religion.  That's  not  a  bit  of  good  ;  indeed,  1  really 
think  it's  worse  than  useless — for  it  angers  and 
embitters  miserable  and  degraded  men,  it  makes 
them  mock.  But  the  religion  that  goes  straight 
for  the  heart  of  a  man,  that  tells  him  his  peril,  that 
is  not  content  with  a  lip  profession  of  faith,  but 
insists  on  a  cleansed  heart,  a  changed  nature,  and 
a  converted  so^.il- that's  the  religion  which  alone 
can  hft  the  fallen  and  restore  the  lost. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  some  people  are  afraid  to 
say  anything  nowadays  of  the  chief  thing  that  makes 
rehgion  a  Hving  fact  and  the  supreme  mystery  of 
existence.     They^re  afraid  of  the  miracle. 

"  Why  !  without  conversion  rehgion  is  nothing 
more  tha?i  a  j)uilosophy.  And  imagine  taking 
philosophy  into  a  prison,  a  lodging-house,  a  gin- 
palace,  or  a  brothel ! 

"  But  yon  c.ixn  take  Christ  there." 


CHAPTER   VI 
THE  PROFESSIONAL  AMATEUR 

THERE  is  a  precision  about  this  man  which  is 
bracing  and  invigorating.  He  holds  his  head 
well,  is  fresh-coloured,  keen-looking,  has  a  trick  of 
voice  which  is  penetrating  and  incisive,  speaks  to 
the  point,  is  alert  and  watchful.  You  imagine  that 
he  never  yawns.  You  cannot  picture  him  collapsed 
and  dishevelled  in  a  chair.  As  I  talked  to  him  it 
occurred  to  me  that  an  ingenious  treatise  might  be 
written  on  the  Psychology  of  a  Rigid  Backbone. 

As  a  boy  he  must  have  been  one  of  those  of 
whom  nurses  say  that  "  it  pays  to  wash."  I  am  not 
satisfied  to  declare  of  him  as  a  man  that  he  is  well 
groomed  ;  I  desire  to  add  that  he  is  well  tubbed 
or  well  soaped.  He  has  the  appearance  of  one 
fresh  from  the  Turkish  bath  and  more  than  ready 
for  a  meal.     A  keen  man. 

As  certainly  as  the  profession  of  priest  or  soldier 
sets  its  seal  upon  a  man's  countenance,  the  pro- 
fession of  the  law  has  set  its  seal  upon  the  face  of 
this  fresh-coloured  and  trenchant  gentleman  of  my 
story.  He  is  a  barrister.  One  could  never  mistake 
him  for  merchant  or  doctor  or  engineer. 

The  tale  of  his  life  is  what  one  would  expect  from 
his  appearance,  save  for  one  incident,  and  even  that 

111 


112  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

is  not  bold  in  the  miracle.  He  looks  like  a  pro- 
fessional man  who  from  the  first  has  kept  a  straight 
course,  who  has  never  turned  aside  by  the  breadth 
of  a  hair  from  the  goal  of  his  ambition,  and  who 
will  continue  to  his  hfe's  end  the  fixed  and  rigid 
habits  of  his  mind.  It  would  not  easily  occur  to  a 
casual  observer  that  this  man  is  an  amateur  minister 
of  religion,  or  that  his  whole  Hfe  is  consecrated 
by  rehgious  idealism.  It  certainly  would  not  occur 
to  a  casual  observer  that  this  alert  and  vigorous 
man  devotes  a  great  part  of  his  Hfe  to  saving  his 
fellow-creatures  from  sin,  and  that  he  has  been  the 
human  means  of  rescuing  many  from  the  greatest 
peril  of  soul. 

He  came  to  London  from  a  country  home,  and 
settled  down  in  chambers  to  prepare  for  the  Bar, 
The  home  was  religious.  He  was  born  and  bred 
a  Churchman,  and  remains  a  Churchman  to  the 
present  day.  But  at  the  time  of  his  coming  to 
London  religion  was  only  one  of  his  good  habits. 
He  had  no  enthusiasm  for  the  subject.  He  had 
reaUy  never  deeply  considered  it. 

Among  the  men  with  whom  he  came  into  contact 
were  many  who  had  no  sense  of  rehgion  at  aU, 
and  were  disposed  to  live  very  much  in  defiance 
of  religious  principles.  Untempted  by  these  men, 
and  as  much  shocked  by  the  carelessness  with  which 
they  prosecuted  their  studies  as  by  the  general  moral 
tone  of  their  characters,  he  was  conscious  in  their 
society  of  a  feehng  of  loneliness  and  isolation. 

He  was  distinctly  unhappy. 

There  was,  apparently,  no  risk  that  he  would 
form  coarse  or  vulgar  habits,  no  peril  that  he  would 


THE    PROFESSIONAL   AMATEUR      113 

faU  into  actual  sin.  But  in  the  society  of  these  men 
who  were  entirely  without  the  sense  of  seriousness, 
whose  conversation  was  rather  base  and  con- 
temptible, who  were  given  to  gambling  and  the 
sin  which  some  suppose  is  inevitable  to  youth  in 
crowded  cities,  he  was  exposed  to  the  risk  of  an 
indirect  contamination,  and  might  easily  have  come 
to  entertain  views  of  religion  disastrous  to  a  really 
noble  life. 

His  story  helps  one  to  see  clearly  a  truth  often 
obscured  by  crude  thinking.  Sin  is  not  beaten  only 
when  it  is  withstood ;  the  dangers  of  bad  influence 
are  by  no  means  confined  to  the  seduction  of  souls 
into  acts  of  sin  ;  it  is  possible  for  a  man  to  be  pure, 
honest,  upright,  and  industrious,  and  yet  corrupted 
by  iniquit}^  And  this  indeed  is  one  of  the  first 
lessons  that  a  wise  man  would  impress  upon  the 
mind  of  a  son  whom  he  greatly  loved.  He  would 
warn  him  against  that  contagion  of  sin  which,  while 
it  leaves  the  heart  unspotted,  paralyses  the  activities 
of  the  soul.  How  many  men  hve  reputable  and 
moral  lives,  in  whom  the  soul  is  almost  destroyed, 
or  at  any  rate  completely  paralysed  ?  I  tliink  the 
host  of  such  men  is  weU-nigh  as  numerous  as  the 
host  of  reckless  wrong-doers.  And  the  Hfe  of  their 
soul  has  been  thus  poisoned  or  destroyed  by  the 
contamination  of  surrounding  iniquity — the  atmo- 
sphere in  which  sin  thrives  of  a  flippant  frivohty, 
a  wholesale  irresponsibility,  a  contempt  for  the 
rehgious  life,  an  indifference  to  the  whole  region  of 
spirit.  They  consider  that  it  is  no  good  to  think 
about  God  and  no  use  to  bother  themselves  with 
the  open  question  of  immortality.    And  so  imagina- 


114  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

tion  withers  at  its  roots,  existence  dwindles  to  the 
petty  round  of  the  individual  ambition,  and  the 
mind  shuts  and  bolts  its  doors  against  mystery. 

Difficult  is  it  for  such  men  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  MaeterHnck's  thought — "  It  is  not 
unreasonable  to  believe  that  the  paramount  interest 
of  life,  all  that  is  truly  lofty  and  remarkable  in  the 
destiny  of  man,  reposes  almost  entirely  in  the 
mystery  that  surrounds  us." 

It  is  no  exaggeration,  but  a  veritable  truth  of 
existence,  to  say  that  the  hobbies,  fads,  and  recrea- 
tions of  respectable  people  ma}^  be  just  as  destructive 
of  the  spiritual  life  as  tlie  crimes  and  excesses  of  the 
disreputable.  A  man  whose  whole  life  is  absorbed 
in  the  cult  of  old  china,  the  growing  of  roses,  the 
breeding  of  dogs,  or  the  collection  of  postage- 
stamps  will  suffer  as  utterly  in  his  spiritual  existence 
as  the  man  abandoned  to  sensuality.  In  one  case 
the  soul  is  murdered  ;  in  the  other  it  is  starved. 

The  danger  of  this  particular  man  was  not  moral, 
but  spiritual.  He  had  none  of  those  propulsions 
towards  vice  which  drive  other  men  so  easily  into 
vulgar  sins.  His  nature,  one  might  almost  say,  was 
sinless.  Sin  had  no  attraction  for  him.  He  was 
untempted.  There  was  in  his  nature  a  fineness  of 
feeling,  a  delicacy  of  refinement,  which  held  him 
not  merely  free  from  sin,  but  superior  to  sin. 
Still,  he  was  in  peril.  The  society  into  which  he 
was  thrown  had  strength  enough  to  destroy  in  a 
more  Christian  man  than  this  the  beauty  and  the 
purity  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  rehgious  Hfe.  He 
might  easily  have  abandoned  church-going,  forgotten 
that  he  possessed  a  Bible,  given  up  the  habit  of 


THE    PROFESSIONAL    AMATEUR      115 

prayer,  and  drifted  into  the  dull  and  inactive  ranks 
of  agnosticism,  or  at  any  rate  of  indifference. 

He  was  in  a  rather  depressed  and  unhappy  state  of 
mind,  when  he  came  across  a  man  of  his  own  age 
who  happened  to  introduce  the  subject  of  religion 
into  their  conversation.  This  man  mentioned 
certain  churches  in  London,  certain  preachers,  and 
suggested  that  they  should  go  together  on  the 
following  Sunday  to  hear  a  particular  man.  A 
friendship  was  in  this  way  estabhshed,  and  the 
feeling  of  loneliness  somewhat  abated  in  the  mind 
of  the  young  barrister.  But  he  was,  nevertheless, 
afflicted  from  time  to  time  by  a  sense  of  something 
lacking  in  his  life,  some  void  which  at  present 
nothing  had  begun  to  fill.  He  sought  by  regular 
attendance  at  church,  by  earnest  prayer,  and  by 
industry  at  his  work,  to  get  rid  of  this  uneasiness 
of  mind.  Sometimes  he  thought  he  had  succeeded. 
But  eventually  the  feeling  returned — a  feeHng  of 
vague  unrest. 

His  friend  spoke  to  him  one  day  of  certain  men 
actively  engaged  in  the  work  of  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  at  Exeter  Hall  in  the  Strand, 
He  became  interested,  and  expressed  a  desire  to 
visit  the  hall  and  make  acquaintance  with  the  work 
of  the  Association.  The  very  first  experience  of  this 
company  induced  him  to  become  a  member  of  the 
Association,  and  he  at  once  began  to  take  a  quiet 
and  humble  part  in  the  missionary  adventures  of 
the  Brotherhood.  He  was  happy  in  having  found 
congenial  companionships,  and  stiU  happier  in 
having  discovered  a  field  for  work. 

From  the  young  barristers  who  surrounded  his 


116  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

life  he  came  in  for  the  usual  amount  of  banter 
and  ridicule.  It  was  sometimes  hard  to  bear, 
but  never  intolerable.  It  was  irritating  and  annoy- 
ing, but  not  cruel. 

Something  in  this  chaffing  opposition  of  the 
world  prevented  him,  apparently,  from  losing  aU 
sense  of  self  in  the  work  of  the  Association.  He  was 
by  no  means  conscious  of  doubt,  by  no  means 
tempted  towards  infidehty ;  but,  thoroughly  believing 
and  earnestly  working,  he  was  aware  of  the  world 
and  conscious  in  his  soul  of  something  he  knew 
not  what  which  came  between  himself  and  peace. 

The  one  incident  in  his  religious  experience  which 
touches  the  miracle  occurred  at  this  period.  He 
was  walking  swiftly  and  happily  one  day  to  a 
meeting  of  the  Association,  when  he  suddenly  felt 
himself  stopped  in  the  street,  and  found  himself 
cross-examined,  as  it  were,  by  his  own  soul.  There 
in  the  London  streets,  jostled  by  a  procession  of 
passers-by,  he  stopped  dead,  and  his  soul  asked  him 
a  question  :  Was  he  going  to  that  meeting  to  hear 
an  address,  to  meet  friends,  to  pass  his  time  away  ? 
or  was  he  going  there  because  he  belonged  to  Christ 
and  desired  to  serve  Him  ? 

Such  was  the  question  that  faced  him  as  he  stood 
in  the  street,  and  would  not  let  him  go  on  till  it 
was  answered.  Those  acquainted  with  the  varieties 
of  rehgious  experience  will  recognise  in  this  arrest 
of  the  whole  body  by  a  sudden  activity  of  the 
conscience  the  features  of  a  common  occurrence. 
A  self  divided,  if  it  be  but  dimly  aware  of  the 
division,  dimly  conscious  of  two  influences  in  the 
mind,  can  never  rest,  never  be  satisfied,  till  the 


THE    PROFESSIONAL    AMATEUR      117 

soul  has  decided  one  way  or  the  other.  The  word 
decision  is  one  of  the  most  important  in  the  literature 
of  religious  experience.  It  is  almost  a  synonym 
for  conversion.  There  is  in  the  soul  of  a  man 
once  awake  to  religious  impulses,  but  still  resting  his 
head  on  the  pillow  of  his  former  habits,  a  hunger 
and  a  longing  for  decision  which  presses  for  satis- 
faction with  enormous  weight  on  the  whole  of  the 
moral  nature.  The  soul  feels  the  need  for  absolute 
decision,  but  cannot  bring  itself  to  rise  and  stand 
upright.  It  fences  and  prevaricates.  It  turns 
this  way  and  that,  to  think  it  over.  But  the  pressure 
increases.  Up  ! — up  ! — nothing  wiU  happen  while 
you  he  stiU  ;  come  to  the  penitent  form,  stand  up 
in  the  midst  of  the  meeting,  or  kneel  down  here  in 
the  solitude  of  your  room — anything  so  long  as  it  is 
action,  anything  so  long  as  it  is  decision,  anything 
so  long  as  it  is  not  meditation,  vacillation,  a 
balancing  of  this  and  that. 

I  have  heard  from  the  Hps  of  numerous  men, 
representing  many  classes  in  the  community  and 
many  degrees  of  culture,  the  phrase,  "  When  I 
decided  for  Christ.  ..."  Until  I  heard  it  from 
real  men,  whose  souls  woke  in  me  a  sincere  admira- 
tion, I  had  the  feeling  of  one  who  hears  a  sharp 
discord,  or  who  is  offended  by  a  coarse  accent. 
It  vexed  me.  It  irritated  me.  It  seemed  to  me  akin 
to  cant.  But  my  experience  of  men  and  my  reading 
of  books  have  brought  me  to  know  that  the  word 
decision  expresses,  as  weU  as  human  language  ever 
can  express  the  things  of  the  spirit,  one  of  the 
most  common  and  one  of  the  most  striking  needs 
of  the  human  soul.    And  I  believe  thoroughly  that 


118  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

what  the  world  calls  "  unrest  "  is  the  inevitable 
condition  of  the  soul  of  man  until  it  has  arisen  from 
the  distractions  of  the  world  and  decided  for  the 
laws  of  God.  The  price  of  the  attempt  to  serve 
two  masters  is  unrest.  Even  if  the  decision  be 
resolutely  made  for  the  world,  unrest  wiU  depart. 
To  decide  for  God  means,  as  is  amply  proved  in 
the  crowded  chronicles  of  rehgious  experience, 
the  attainment  of  peace  and  an  impulse  towards 
personal  service. 

This  barrister  tells  me  that  as  he  stood  in  the 
London  street,  confronted  by  the  question  of  his 
soul,  he  received  the  assurance  that  Christ  came 
first  in  his  life.  He  does  not  know  how  to  express 
his  sensation  in  words.  He  says  he  felt  himself  pass 
"  from  death  unto  life,"  and  when  I  ask  him  if  he 
can  find  words  outside  the  language  of  metaphor, 
ordinary  and  natural  words,  to  express  his  experi- 
ence, he  says  frankly  that  he  knows  of  none.  And 
he  is  emphatic  in  his  protest  that  the  language  of 
metaphor  accurately  expresses  the  sensation  of  his 
soul.  It  was  a  feeling  of  having  passed  from  one 
state  of  being  to  another,  from  a  state  of  death  to 
a  state  of  life,  a  feeling  of  resurrection  and  vital 
existence,  a  glorious  and  iUuming  sensation  of  the 
Personal  Love  of  a  Personal  God. 

So  real  was  this  feeling,  he  teUs  me,  that  he  went 
back  next  day  to  the  very  spot  where  he  had  stopped 
in  the  streets  and  said  to  himself,  "Here,  yester- 
day, by  the  grace  of  God,  I  was  converted  and 
bom  again."  Many  years  have  gone  by  since  then. 
The  world  has  prospered  with  him.  He  is  a  married 
man,  with  the  care  of  children  on  his  hands.    But, 


THE    PROFESSIONAL    AMATEUR      119 

he  tells  me,  in  the  midst  of  many  and  great 
activities,  that  single  incident  stands  out  clear  and 
vivid  in  his  mind,  and  for  evermore  that  stone  in 
the  pavement  wiU  be  for  him  most  sacred  ground. 

Soon  after  this  experience  the  branch  of  the 
Association  whose  meetmgs  he  attended  received 
a  visit  from  Sir  George  Williams.  The  barrister 
tells  me  that  he  was  greatly  struck  at  the  time  by 
the  simple  fact  that  IMr.  WiUiams,  as  he  then  was, 
had  come  at  considerable  inconvenience  to  himself, 
and  would  have  to  depart  at  six  o'clock  the  next 
morning  to  fulfil  another  engagement.  He  re- 
flected on  this  fact,  and  it  led  him  to  see  that  men 
who  devoted  themselves  to  rehgion,  who  reaUy 
lived  the  hfe  of  a  Christian,  counted  no  cost  in  the 
service  of  Christ.  This  reflection  worked  in  his 
soul.  At  the  same  meeting  an  address  was  given  by 
Mr.  Hind  Smith  on  the  text.  To  me  to  live  is  Christ. 
The  idea  contained  in  this  address  of  service  and 
devotion,  ceaseless  service  and  passionate  devotion, 
haunted  the  barrister  for  weeks  and  months. 

He  learned  soon  afterwards,  he  says,  to  show  his 
colours.  "  To  stand  on  the  street,"  he  says,  with 
a  smile,  "  where  one  was  weU  known,  and  invite  the 
passing  young  men  to  the  meetings,  was  not  always 
pleasant  to  the  flesh,  but  it  was  good  discipline,  and 
not  without  its  use  in  character  buildmg." 

There  was  a  feeling  of  joy  that  he  had  given 
himself  to  Christ,  that  his  colours  were  at  last 
firmly  nailed  to  the  mast,  that  the  irrevocable  step 
had  now  been  taken  boldly  and  certainly.  But  he 
had  his  moments  when  he  rather  shrank  from  the 
ordeal   of   pubhc    activity   and   public   demonstra- 


120  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

tion  ;  smiling,  he  teUs  one  that  sometimes  it  was 
necessary  to  make  a  great  effort. 

His  spiritual  life,  however,  was  deepening  and 
intensifying.  He  learned  at  this  period  to  beheve 
with  a  reaUy  profound  faith  in  the  power  of  prayer. 
The  incident  wfiich  produced  this  particular  effect 
upon  his  mind  may  appear  trivial  and  uncon- 
vincing to  many  people  ;  but  to  the  man  himself 
it  had  a  marked  significence. 

"  The  extension  of  the  work  of  the  Association," 
he  says,  "  had  necessitated  a  new  building.  When 
aU  available  funds  had  been  collected  there  stiU 
remained  a  substantial  debt.  The  situation  was 
rather  serious.  At  a  meeting  of  the  Committee 
one  of  the  members  proposed  that  they  should  aU 
give  up  their  business  for  a  whole  day  and  devote 
it  to  prayer  for  the  removal  of  the  debt.  Now,  it  is 
a  strange  thing  but  true,  that  a  certain  merchant 
at  that  time  made  his  wiU,  and,  quite  unknown  to 
any  of  the  Committee,  left  one-fourth  of  his  re- 
siduary estate  to  the  Association,  subject  to  his 
wife's  Hfe-interest.  Soon  after  the  making  of  this 
wiU  he  died  ;  but  his  widow  was  destined  to  Hve 
for  many  years.  The  will,  however,  did  not  suit 
her,  as  she  desired  to  become  absolute  owner  of  her 
husband's  money.  In  the  end,  with  the  sanction 
of  the  Court,  the  widow  bought  up  the  reversionary 
interests,  and  the  amount  payable  to  the  Associa- 
tion was  just  enough  to  cover  the  outstanding 
mortgage  debt." 

He  tells  me  of  one  or  two  incidents  in  his  career 
as  a  worker  for  the  Association  which  have  greatly 
impressed  him. 


THE    PROFESSIONAL    AMATEUR      121 

A  young  man  once  came  to  the  meetings  of  the 
Association  who  appeared  to  be  very  unhappy  and 
distressed  in  his  mind.     He  told  the  barrister  that 

he  was  a  valet  to  Lord  ,  that  his  situation 

was  a  good  one,  that  nothing  troubled  him  about 
his  future,  but  that  for  many  weeks  he  had  been  in 
much  anxiety  about  his  soul.  Somehow,  he  said, 
the  peace  which  he  sought  eluded  him. 

It  was  a  case  of  unrest,  proceeding  from  indecision. 
He  wanted  to  surrender  his  soul  to  Christ,  but  cer- 
tain considerations,  more  or  less  intellectual,  held 
him  in  check.  He  could  not  be  quite  sure  whether 
he  beheved  the  Bible.  Certain  arguments  he  had 
heard  troubled  him. 

One  evening  a  few  members  of  the  Association 
interested  in  the  young  man  remained  talking  with 
him  after  a  meeting,  striving  to  settle  his  intellectual 
doubts  and  doing  all  they  could  by  persuasion  to 
make  the  man  surrender.  They  not  only  talked  with 
him,  but  there  in  the  room  knelt  and  prayed  with 
him.  It  was  useless.  He  acknowledged  the  cogency 
of  their  arguments,  professed  himself  unworthy  of 
their  kindness,  but  said  that  he  could  not  yet  bring 
himself  to  take  the  plunge. 

At  this  point  the  barrister  turned  aside  and  wrote  | 
on  a  piece  of  paper  the  words,  "  /  now  reject  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  as  my  Saviour ^    He  then  passed 
the  paper  to  the  young  man  and  suggested  that  he  ! 
should  sign  it.     The  poor  feUow  read  the  words,  ■ 
started,  and  said,  No,  he  would  not  sign  it — much 
wondering  at  the  suggestion.     The  barrister  took 
back  the  piece  of  paper,  turned  it  over,  and  wrote  ^ 
on  the  other  side,  "/  now  accept  the  Lord  Jesus  i 


122  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

Christ  as  my  Saviour. ^^    Then  he  passed  it  to  the  * 
man,  saying  nothing.    For  a  moment  he  hesitated  ? 
after  reading  the  words  ;  then  with  a  kind  of  spring 
of  suddenness  he  took  a  pen  and  wrote  his  name- 
underneath.    In  the  ^  of  signing  he  was  conscious  | 
of  Hberation. 

Within  a  very  few  days  of  this  end  to  his  spiritual 
wretchedness  he  was  arrested  on  a  charge  of  steal- 
ing some  sleeve-links  belonging  to  his  master.  He 
was  brought  before  a  magistrate  and  sent  for  trial. 
A  previous  employer  happened  to  see  a  report  of 
the  proceedings  in  the  newspaper,  and  convinced 
of  the  man's  innocence  at  once  went  and  bailed  him 
out.  He  then  took  steps,  at  his  own  expense,  to 
get  Mr.  Montagu  WiUiams  instructed  for  the  defence. 
At  the  trial,  however,  the  whole  case  coUapsed. 
The  jury  stated  that  they  did  not  wish  to  hear  the 
defence,  and  the  innocent  man  was  instantly 
acquitted. 

The  barrister  told  me  that  he  was  greatly 
impressed  by  the  man's  quiet  confidence  and 
singular  calm  aU  through  this  most  trying  and 
testing  time  of  trouble.  "  Not  a  word  of  com- 
plaint," he  said,  "  passed  his  lips  as  to  the  false 
charge,  but  many  expressions  of  gratitude  for 
God's  faithfulness  to  him  in  that  time  of  heavy 
trial.  I  constantly  met  him  in  after  years,  and  the 
last  occasion  I  saw  him  was  in  Hyde  Park  taking 
part  in  a  rehgious  meeting." 

He  told  me  that  he  had  known  scores  of  men 
whose  lives  had  been  entirely  changed,  some  of  them 
completely  revolutionised,  by  contact  with  the 
Association.     He  mentions  a  certain  squire  in  the 


THE    PROFESSIONAL    AMATEUR      123 

south  of  England  who  has  given  up  a  Hfe  of  sport 
and  pleasure  to  devote  himself  entirely  to  the 
missionary  work  of  the  Association  ;  a  barrister, 
who  had  been  "  more  than  a  little  wild  at  the 
'Varsity,"  who  became  a  worker  for  the  Associa- 
tion while  he  was  in  London  reading  for  the  Bar, 
and  who  since  his  father's  death  has  lived  in  the 
country,  "  where  he  administers  justice  from  the 
county  bench  and  astonishes  his  fellow-justices  with 
his  outspoken  Christianity  "  ;  a  prominent  surgeon 
of  the  present  day,  who  joined  the  Association  as 
a  medical  student,  worked  exceedingly  hard  for  it, 
and  keeps  up  his  connection  to  the  present  day  ;  a 
young  London  solicitor,  who,  influenced  by  Moody's 
Mission  in  1884,  came  to  the  Association  "with  a 
view  of  getting  some  Christian  work,"  and  has 
ever  since  been  an  active  member  ;  an  architect, 
by  no  means  unknown,  who  joined  the  Association 
many  years  ago  and  ascribes  "  much  of  his  Christian 
development  and  character  to  his  connection  with 
and  work  in  the  Association  "  ;  a  young  country 
lawyer,  in  London  for  the  last  years  of  his  articles, 
who  then  joined  the  Association,  and  is  now  "  well 
known  in  a  West-country  town  as  an  out-and-out 
Christian  and  is  always  willing  to  testify  to  the 
definite  blessing  and  help  he  got  at  the  Association 
in  his  London  days." 

And  then  he  says  :  "  Others  I  could  name  who  for 
a  time  ran  well  and  then  fell  off,  but  the  faUing  off 
always  came  after  they  had  severed  their  connection 
with  the  Association." 

He  told  me  of  one  rather  remarkable  incident  in 
his  experience  of  the  Association's  work.     At  a 


124  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

certain  meeting  held  in  the  Strand  three  men  from 
the  country  passing  along  the  street  were  persuaded 
to  come  in.  They  were  obHged  to  leave  before  the 
close  of  the  meeting,  in  order  to  catch  a  train  at 
King's  Cross.  Within  a  week  a  letter  arrived  at 
the  Association's  quarters  in  the  Strand,  addressed 
to  "  The  Chairman  of  the  Meeting."  It  was  written 
by  one  of  the  three  men,  and  told  that  while  two  of 
them  had  been  willing,  as  Christian  men,  to  attend 
the  meeting,  the  third  had  held  back  at  first  and 
had  only  consented  at  last  on  the  persuasions  of  his 
friends.  At  the  meeting,  however,  this  man  heard 
something  that  touched  his  heart,  and  there  and  then 
"  gave  himself  to  Christ."  In  the  train,  on  their  way 
home,  the  three  countrymen  rejoiced  together  in 
a  common  enthusiasm  for  the  rehgious  life.  In  less 
than  a  week  the  man  who  had  surrendered  himself 
at  the  meeting  was  dead. 

The  barrister  told  me  why  he  remains  an  active 
worker  for  the  Association,  in  spite  of  his  loyalty 
as  a  Churchman. 

"  The  Association  brings  one,"  he  said,  "  into 
intimate  communion  with  men  of  aU  denomina- 
tions, and  gives  one  in  this  way  a  broadness  of  out- 
look which  is  withheld,  I  think,  from  those  who  have 
not  known  work  outside  their  own  church.  I  count 
this  right  adjustment — Christian  first,  Churchman 
second.  A  man  gets  a  most  useful  knowledge  of 
the  world-wide  influence  and  appeal  of  Christianity 
by  mixing  with  Christians  of  aU  the  various  churches 
and  chapels.  No  proselytising  takes  place.  The 
members  are  united  on  the  essentials  of  Christianity, 
and  the  Association  may  be  said  to  represent  the 


THE    PROFESSIONAL    AMATEUR      125 

Church  of  Christ  in  its  spirit  of  brotherhood  which 
is  superior  to  mere  differences  of  opinion,  and  which 
unites  men  of  the  most  opposite  Churchmanship 
in  a  missionary  unanimity  for  the  essentials  of 
rehgion. 

"  Another  great  advantage  of  the  Association, 
one  which  every  young  man  starting  hfe  ought  to 
take  into  account,  is  the  opportunity  it  affords  for 
the  formation  of  noble  friendships.  You  meet  men 
of  most  classes  in  the  Association,  and  among  them 
a  man  wiU  always  find  those  with  whom  he  can 
associate  in  his  social  hfe,  and  who  may  very  Hkely 
be  most  helpful  to  him  in  his  professional  or  business 
career.  Several  of  my  friendships  date  back  twenty- 
five  and  even  thirty  years  in  connection  with  Asso- 
ciation work. 

"  Finally,  there  is  the  immense  advantage  of 
finding  in  the  Association  a  field  of  active  service. 
And  this  service,  so  important  to  the  development 
of  spiritual  life,  differs  materially  from  that  of  one's 
own  church.  With  the  latter  it  is  a  specified  work, 
such  as  a  Sunday-school  class,  and  done  at  a  speci- 
fied time.  There  is  something  of  machinery  about 
it.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Association  teaches  a 
man  that  he  is  always  on  duty,  as  it  were — particu- 
larly in  the  sphere  of  his  own  daily  caUing.  The 
outcome  of  this  is  individual  dealing,  fishing  for  men 
in  aU  waters — a  form  of  service  which  brings  more 
success  and  more  joy  than  any  other.  The  open-air 
work,  evangelistic  work,  Bible  study,  and  the  Hke, 
all  combine  to  make  one  open  one's  mouth  in  pubho 
— not  only  in  testimony,  but  also,  in  a  measure,  in 
teaching  and  preaching." 


126  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

His  own  life  is  devoted  in  this  way  to  the  service 
of  his  Master. 

The  reflective  reader  wiU  consider  what  might 
have  happened  to  this  man  if  he  had  drifted  into 
a  condition  of  indifference  and  had  never  felt  it  his 
duty  to  Uft  a  finger  for  rehgion.  He  might  have 
remained  scrupulously  moral,  but  would  his  hfe 
have  been  so  useful  or  his  heart  so  restful  ? 

He  gave  me  above  every  other  impression  the 
feeling  that  in  active  work  for  Christianity  there  is 
a  pleasure  and  a  satisfaction  which,  besides  develop- 
ing the  spiritual  life — that  Hfe  which  demands  a 
perpetual  culture  and  a  particular  atmosphere — 
adds  enormously  to  the  mere  interest  and  adventure 
of  human  existence.  He  struck  me  as  one  of  the 
happiest  men  I  have  ever  encountered.  He  enjoys 
the  work  of  amateur  missionary  with  an  almost 
athletic  zest,  and  few  things  give  him  so  much 
pleasure,  he  tells  me,  as  occasionally  forgathering 
with  his  friends  of  the  Association  and  talking  over 
old  times  and  old  strivings  for  the  souls  of  men. 

For  the  man  who  does  nothing  to  spread  the 
glory  of  the  Kingdom  of  God  he  has  a  sorrowful 
pity — such  a  compassion  as  Cicero  may  have  had 
for  the  dumb  and  Shakespeare  for  the  blind.  And 
yet,  remember,  he  began  life  with  no  taste  for  such 
work  ;  he  had  to  drive  himself  to  it  at  the  beginning 
with  a  great  effort  of  the  will. 

We  think  these  things  are  decided  for  us  by 
temperament.  But  character  is  made  by  the 
decision  of  the  will. 

Quo  vadis  ? 


CHAPTER   VII 
A  SOUL   IN  THE   STREET 

ONLY  a  reader  who  is  not  afraid  to  explore  the 
dark  and  innermost  recesses  of  a  morbid  mind, 
and  to  behold  naked  before  his  eyes  the  soul  of 
one  whom  science  would  perhaps  describe  as  a 
degenerate,  should  give  himself  the  trouble  of 
perusing  this  present  chapter.  For  I  confess  at  the 
outset  it  is  a  tale  of  extraordinary  gloom,  a  most 
morbid  and  dismal  story — one  of  those  psycho- 
logical autobiographies  which  a  healthy  man  will 
probably  read  with  increasing  aversion  and  disgust 
only  to  find  that  he  has  taken  into  his  memory  a 
haunting  and  unforgettable  unpleasantness.  It  is 
like  a  story  by  Guy  de  Maupassant,  or  a  visit  to  the 
dissecting-room  of  a  hospital.  One  shudders,  turns 
away  with  rehef,  but  never  forgets. 

Why,  then,  do  I  tell  the  tale  ?  Is  it  not  a  useless 
task  to  which  I  address  myself  ? — something  which 
can  do  no  good  to  anybody  ? 

"  Useless,'"  writes  Myers,  "  is  a  pre-scientific,  even 
an  anti-scientific  term,  which  has  perhaps  proved 
a  greater  stumbling-block  to  research  in  psychology 
than  in  any  other  science.  In  science  the  use  of 
phenomena  is  to  prove  laws,  and  the  more  bizarre 
and  trivial  the  phenomena,  the  greater  the  chance 

127 


128  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

of  their  directing  us  to  some  law  which  has  been 
overlooked  till  now."  Properly  regarded,  nothing 
in  life  is  either  trivial  or  without  significance. 

And  not  only  this.  The  longer  one  Hves  and 
the  more  one  becomes  acquainted  with  the  secrets 
of  the  human  mind,  the  less  one  is  inclined  to  divide 
men  into  the  ranks  of  normal  and  abnormal.  I 
should  be  glad  if  I  could  think  the  man  of  this 
story  was  soHtary  in  the  midst  of  London's  milHons, 
or  that  he  was  one  of  a  httle,  ill-starred  brotherhood 
moving  through  the  obscure  shadows  with  envy 
of  the  happier  multitude.  But  I  am  persuaded  that 
he  represents  a  considerable  host  of  human  beings, 
and  I  am  strongly  disposed  to  think  that  this  host 
will  not  diminish  but  increase,  while  the  tendency 
of  mankind  to  coagulate  in  vast  masses  continues 
to  impoverish  the  fields  and  pack  the  unnatural 
cities.  These  unhappy  men,  I  mean,  are  manu- 
factured by  a  civilisation  which  tends  to  be- 
come every  day  more  careless  of  the  laws  of 
nature. 

It  is  certainly  well  that  those  able  to  contemplate 
the  tragic  depths  of  the  human  mind  should  read 
such  a  tale  as  this,  read  it,  reflect  upon  it,  and  con- 
sider what  may  best  be  done  for  those  suffering  in 
like  case  ;  but  I  even  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  very 
people  whom  I  warn  against  the  reading  of  it  would 
probably  broaden  their  sympathies  and  usefuUy 
enlarge  their  knowledge  of  existence,  if  they  per- 
suade their  intelligence  to  take  the  place  of  their 
prejudices  and  read  the  story  as  a  man  of  science 
would  examine  a  problem  in  phj^sics.  With  this 
warning  I  proceed  to  tell  the  tale. 


A    SOUL    m    THE    STREET  129 

He  is  a  man  of  medium  stature,  thin,  but  broad- 
shouldered,  with  a  worn  and  troubled  face,  to  which, 
it  would  seem,  smiles  had  never  come,  even  in 
childhood.  The  complexion  is  the  dusty  grey  of 
London's  indoor  population,  a  pallor  which  has  no 
freshness,  an  anaemic  condition  which  is  without  the 
refining  sense  of  disease  ;  no  amount  of  soap  and 
water  could  give  this  pallor  the  appearance  of 
cleanliness  ;  it  is  hke  a  face  that  has  been  washed, 
but  dried  with  a  dirty  towel. 

The  head  is  finely  shaped,  but  disproportionately 
large  for  the  flat-chested  and  starved-looking  body. 
The  hair  grows  thickly  and  stands  upright.  The 
eyebrows  are  as  heavy  as  a  sybarite's  moustache  ; 
the  moustache  is  Hke  a  Frenchman's  beard.  Sur- 
rounded on  every  side  by  this  bushy  hair,  the 
large  eyes,  set  deep  in  their  sockets,  look  sadly  and 
pathetically  forth  from  under  the  heavy  eave  of  the 
white  brow,  and  through  eyeglasses  which  are  stained 
and  smudged.  They  would  be  beautiful  eyes  but 
for  their  look  of  woe,  which  dulls  the  brightness 
of  the  brown  iris,  and  robs  the  whole  expression  of 
animation  and  vitahty.  One  sees  that  the  soul  is 
never  near  the  surface,  never  pressing  its  face 
close  to  the  windows  of  its  tenement ;  it  is  far  away, 
busy  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  obsessed  by 
internal  problems  ;  only  from  thence  does  it  strain 
occasionally  to  see  what  is  taking  place  out  of  doors. 

He  sits  very  quietly,  looking  smaller  than  he 
really  is  ;  the  head  sinks  a  httle  towards  the  breast ; 
the  hands  are  clasped  over  one  of  the  knees  which 
is  crossed  upon  the  other  leg  ;  the  thick  eyebrows 
are  raised  high  in  the  wrinkled  forehead.    He  speaks 

K 


130  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

in  a  low  and  even  voice,  like  a  man  who  has  just 
suffered  a  great  bereavement.  His  frankness  in- 
creases as  he  proceeds ;  he  is  amazingly  pitiless 
towards  himself ;  he  becomes  in  his  quiet  and 
restrained  manner  earnestly  self -analytical ;  he  is 
interested  as  an  outsider  in  the  commotion  which 
distracts  him ;  he  asks  advice,  and  discusses  remedies. 

The  quiet  of  the  man  is  astonishing.  He  reminds 
me  of  Victor  Hugo's  description  of  Villemain — "  he 
was  rather  disordered  -  looking,  but  gentle  and 
earnest."  In  a  man  troubled,  as  I  found  him 
to  be  troubled,  one  looks  for  excitabihty,  self- 
conscious  nervousness,  and  that  condition  which 
we  describe  as  jumpiness.  But  he  is  like  a  man 
under  the  influence  of  morphia. 

He  occupies  a  position  of  importance  in  a  firm 
of  chartered  accountants.  He  is  not  only  a  clever 
and  trustworthy  clerk,  but  an  able  man.  In  the 
City  of  London  many  people  know  him  as  an 
excellent  feUow.  This  position,  as  the  story  will 
show,  has  been  won  entirely  by  his  own  efforts. 

One  of  his  greatest  friends  is  a  member  of  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association.  It  was  this 
friend  who,  having  told  me  something,  but  only  a 
small  part,  of  his  story,  brought  us  together.  As 
soon  as  we  were  alone,  the  man  said  to  me,  "  You 
have  heard  how  I  started  hfe  ?  " 

"  So-and-so,"  I  replied,  "  has  told  me  that  you 
had  a  hard  time  in  boyhood." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  time,  and  then  said, 
without  any  emotion  or  the  least  sign  of  feeling,  "I 
am  what  is  caUed  an  illegitimate.  I  never  saw  my 
father,  and  to  this  day  I  don't  even  know  his  name. 


A   SOUL   IN   THE   STREET  131 

I  should  like  now  to  hear  something  about  him, 
I  am  interested  in  heredity.  It  might  explain  things 
which  are  difficult  to  understand.  My  mother,  I 
must  tell  you,  was  quite  a  poor  woman. 

"  She  Uved  in  Finchley,  and  just  before  I  was 
bom  went  to  lodge  at  the  house  of  a  foreman  printer 
in  Westminster  Bridge  Road.  As  soon  after  my 
birth  as  possible  she  went  back  to  her  people,  and 
left  me  to  the  care  of  the  printer  and  his  wife.  I 
suppose  she  must  have  paid  something  down,  or 
perhaps  she  contributed  a  certain  sum  to  the  weekly 
expenses.  I  never  heard.  She  went  away,  and  when 
I  was  old  enough  to  ask  questions  I  wasn't  suffi- 
ciently interested  to  inquire.  She  came  to  see  me 
from  time  to  time.  I  liked  her,  but  never  regarded 
her  as  my  mother.  Since  those  days  I  have  been 
able  to  support  her.  But  she  lives  far  away ;  we 
do  not  see  each  other. 

"  For  me,  my  parents  were  the  foreman  printer 
and  his  wife.  I  called  them  *  father'  and  '  mother,' 
and  they  treated  me  almost  as  weU  as  they  treated 
their  own  son,  who  was  a  year  or  two  my  senior. 
Their  house  in  Westminster  Bridge  Road  was  my 
home.    Their  son  was  my  brother. 

"  How  my  Hfe  would  have  gone  but  for  that  son 
I  do  not  dare  to  speculate.  His  father  and  mother 
were  kind  to  me — kind  as  one  is  kind  to  a  dog  or  a 
cat ;  but  they  took  no  pains  to  discover  my  thoughts, 
to  guide  my  inclinations,  or  to  shape  my  character. 
They  taught  me  morals  by  saying,  '  Don't  do  that,' 
or  *  You  mustn't  do  this.'  They  never  told  me  a 
single  word  about  God  and  the  soul.  They  never 
looked  into  my  mind. 


132  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

"  It  is  a  great  puzzle  to  me  how  their  son  got  his 
notion  of  reHgion.  Perhaps  he  was  born  with  it. 
I  can  remember  how  he  would  say  to  me,  when  we 
were  talking  about  temptations,  '  I  never  feel 
anything  Uke  that ;  I  can't  understand  how  anyone 
can  sin  ;  I  was  born  good  and  always  shall  be  good." 
He  used  to  laugh  when  he  said  it,  just  as  if  he  were 
some  spirit  or  a  fairy,  flashing  his  eyes  at  me,  putting 
his  arm  round  my  neck,  and  drawing  me  close  to  his 
side  with  what  was  almost  a  gay  affection.  There 
was  something  strange  about  the  boy.  In  some 
ways  he  was  much  more  Hke  a  girl.  He  was  never 
rough  or  boisterous.  He  never  wanted  any  horse- 
play. He  was  gentle  and  clinging,  and  had  some- 
thing in  his  nature  which  was  positively  maternal. 
He  used  to  take  me  on  his  knees  when  I  was  quite  a 
little  chap,  and  tell  me  about  God,  the  angels, 
heaven,  and  the  life  of  Christ.  We  would  sit  like  that 
on  the  doorstep,  the  traffic  going  by  all  the  time,  till 
it  was  bedtime.  .  .  . 

"  Later  in  my  boyhood  he  encouraged  me  to 
pray  with  great  earnestness,  and  taught  me  the 
urgent  need  of  deciding  to  give  my  Hfe  to  rehgion. 
I  don't  remember  if  he  used  the  word  conversion. 
He  used  to  speak  about  making  up  the  mind, 
deciding,  w/xhing  certain  how  one  was  going  to  Hve. 
Perhaps  he  got  these  ideas  from  his  Sunday-school. 
What  strikes  me  now  in  thinking  about  those  days 
is  the  motherliness  of  my  foster-brother.  He 
was  reaUy  as  tender  as  any  woman.  And  there  was 
something  radiant  about  him. 

"  He  was  certainly  a  very  remarkable  boy  ;  but 
I  dare  say  that  if  we  knew  all  the  facts  of  his  ancestry, 


A   SOUL    IN   THE    STREET  133 

and  all  the  circumstances  of  his  childhood,  we  should 
see  that  there  was  nothing  particular  in  his  natural 
rehgiousness. 

"  As  soon  as  he  was  able  to  leave  school  his  father 
apprenticed  him  to  a  firm  of  electrical  engineers. 
Of  course  I  could  not  expect  such  luck  for  myself, 
and  I  went  out  soon  afterwards  to  shift  for  myself 
as  an  errand-boy. 

"  That's  rather  a  strange  life.  I  often  look  at 
little  chaps  of  twelve  and  thirteen,  hurrying  up 
to  the  City  with  a  packet  of  sandwiches  under  their 
arms — Httle  beggars  beginning  the  great  struggle 
of  fife  in  London.  I  wonder  what  they  are  thinking 
about.  I  wonder  if  they  are  fighting  temptations. 
People  often  forget  that  a  boy  has  a  battle  in  his  soul 
as  big  as  any  man's.  And  they're  pitchforked 
straight  out  of  school  into  the  very  middle  of 
London.  .  .  .  Well,  they  hear  things  and  see  things, 
as  well  as  feel  the  strange  things  that  move  about  in 
the  human  brain.  A  Httle  boy  thrown  into  the 
midst  of  London  is  exposed  to  many  serious  risks — 
big  risks. 

"  I'll  be  quite  frank  with  you.  I  should  have  gone 
straight  to  the  devil  but  for  my  foster-brother.  As 
it  was  I  went  some  considerable  way  in  that  direc- 
tion. I  fought  hard.  I  put  up  a  real  fight.  But  I 
was  beaten  again  and  again.  So  passed  my  boyhood. 
I  grew  into  my  youth  without  any  enthusiasm 
for  life.  I  felt  tired  and  fagged  out  before  I  was 
twenty. 

"  There's  no  doubt  at  all  that  my  salvation,  so  far 
as  a  man  in  my  case  can  ever  dare  to  talk  about 
salvation,  came  from  the  Young  Men's  Christian 


134  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

Association.  My  foster-brother  persuaded  me  to 
become  a  member.  He  told  me  about  the  educa- 
tional classes,  encouraged  me  to  be  ambitious,  and 
assured  me — for  I  used  to  tell  him  about  my 
temptations — that  I  should  get  strength  from  the 
rehgious  meetings  of  the  Association.  So  I  joined. 
It  proved  a  great  blessing  to  me.  First  of  aU,  the 
religious  meetings  reaUy  did  help  me.  I  got  from 
them  a  decided  bent  towards  religion,  and  set 
myself  to  obtain,  if  possible,  the  miraculous  change 
of  heart  which  follows  conversion.  I  am  one  of  those 
men,  I  must  teU  you,  who  feel  themselves  converted 
again  and  again.  I  have  had  moments  in  which 
heU  seemed  to  drop  away  from  me,  shrivelled  up  at 
my  feet,  and  left  me  free.  For  weeks  and  months 
I  have  lived  as  if  I  was  in  communion  with  God, 
quite  happy,  and  quite  untempted.  Then — weU, 
the  darkness  has  returned.  But  I  must  teU  you 
about  that  later  on,  if  you  care  to  hear  about  it. 

"I  made  great  strides  in  the  educational  classes. 
In  a  few  months  I  was  able  to  take  a  place  as  a  clerk. 
I  learnt  everything  I  possibly  could.  I  was  keen, 
not  only  for  the  sake  of  getting  on  in  the  world,  but 
for  the  sake  of  getting  away  from  myself.  Rehgion, 
education,  physical  culture,  the  games  and  meet- 
ings and  discussions  of  the  Association — ^I  welcomed 
aU  ahke,  as  distractions  from  my  wretched  self. 

"  I  should  hke  you  to  know  one  thing  about  the 
Association,  which  perhaps  other  people  haven't  told 
you.  Men  of  all  classes,  except  the  manual  labourer, 
are  members,  and  some  of  the  first  people  in  the  land 
come  to  the  meetings  and  mix  freely  with  the  rest. 
You  find  aristocrats,  prominent  bankers,  famous 


A   SOUL   IN   THE   STREET  135 

merchants,  and  officers  of  the  army  mixing  with 
clerks  and  shop-assistants,  with  a  real  spirit  of 
friendship  and  brotherhood.  Now,  to  a  young 
fellow  placed  as  I  was  placed,  born  in  dishonour  and 
starting  Hfe  as  an  errand-boy,  those  friendships, 
those  acts  of  kindness  I  received  from  great  people, 
had  a  most  useful  moral  effect.  When  I  was 
tempted  I  used  to  feel  guilty  of  disloyalty  and 
treason  ;  when  I  fell,  it  was  with  a  sense  of  shame 
and  horror.  I  used  to  think,  *  If  they  only  knew  my 
true  character  !  '  And  I  used  to  strive — God  alone 
knows  how  hard — ^to  be  worthy  of  those  friendships. 
I  feel  pretty  certain  that  scores  of  young  feUows 
must  have  been  helped  in  the  same  way.  It's  a 
simple  thing,  but  simple  things  in  life  often  count 
more  than  the  big  ones. 

"WeU,  through  the  kindness  of  a  man  in  the 
Association,  I  got  a  good  appointment  in  a  firm  of 
chartered  accountants,  and  was  soon  earning  a 
decent  salary.  My  foster-father  was  dead.  For 
some  time  I  had  been  Uving  in  lodgings.  It  occurred 
to  me  now  that  the  best  thing  I  could  do  for  my 
soul  and  body  would  be  to  get  married.  At  this  time 
I  experienced  what  seemed  to  me  a  definite  con- 
version. I  became  exceedingly  happy.  For  a 
quite  considerable  period  I  knew  something  of  the 
joy,  the  elation,  which  saints  teU  about.  It  was 
like  Hving  in  Paradise. 

"  During  that  happy  speU  in  my  life  I  got  married. 
My  salary  enabled  me  to  take  a  smaU  house  in 
Willesden.  My  wife  was  all  I  could  wish.  For  a 
year  or  two  I  w£is  free  from  spiritual  persecution, 
A  child  came  to  us,  and  I  experienced  the  full 


136  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

happiness  of  parentage.  It  seemed  as  if  my  con- 
version had  exorcised  the  demon. 

"  One  day  I  discovered  that  the  demon  had  only 
been  sleeping.    It  woke  in  a  strange  form. 

"  I  will  teU  you  about  it,  if  you  reaUy  would  care 
to  hear  the  story.  It's  strange  and  puzzling,  as 
weU  as  rather  horrible.  I  had  been  working  late 
at  the  books  of  a  big  firm  one  day,  and  emerged, 
tired  and  fagged,  into  the  streets  a  Httle  before 
eight  o'clock.  A  feeling  came  to  me  that  it  would 
be  duU  to  go  home.  I  seemed  to  have  no  energy  to 
make  for  the  railway  station.  I  loitered  in  the 
streets,  tired,  irresolute.  Then  I  thought  I  would  go 
westwards,  get  something  to  eat,  and  look  at  the 
people  till  it  was  time  for  bed.  It  did  not  definitely 
occur  to  me  at  that  moment,  nor  tiU  an  hour  after- 
wards, that  I  was  contemplating  a  sin,  that  my 
demon  was  awake,  certainly  not  that  my  soul  was 
in  peril.  Yet,  I  was  dimly  conscious  of  something 
that  was  ofi  the  fine. 

"  WHien  I  had  eaten  my  dinner  I  walked  about 
the  streets.  I  walked  at  a  slow  pace,  almost  a 
crawl.  I  found  it  pleasant  and  interesting  to  look 
at  people.  It  was  as  if  something  of  the  world's 
pleasure  and  enjoyment  came  to  me  from  the  crowd, 
like  the  warmth  of  a  fire.  I  was  conscious  of  a 
sense  of  satisfaction,  of  interest,  almost  of  gratitude. 

"As  I  loitered  in  this  way  I  noticed  a  girl  standing 
alone  at  a  street  corner.  She  was  a  decent  girl  of 
the  lower-middle  classes,  quietly  dressed,  and 
obviously  respectable.  No  one  in  his  senses  would 
have  taken  her  for  a  bad  woman.  Directly  I  saw 
her  I  wanted  to  speak  to  her.    It  was  not  a  swift 


A   SOUL    IN    THE    STREET  137 

and  violent  impulse  ;  it  was  sluggish,  sly,  circum- 
spect ;  but  it  was  irresistible.  I  walked  past  her  ; 
looked  in  her  face  ;  went  by  ;  returned  ;  looked 
at  her  again  ;  and  then  stood  at  a  few  paces  from 
her,  watching.  She  saw  me,  and  responded  to  my 
look  with  a  smile.  I  felt  myself  tremendously 
tempted.  I  walked  towards  her,  and  as  I  went 
I  knew  that  I  was  on  the  edge  of  sin,  that  my 
demon  was  awake. 

"  I  made  no  resistance.  I  seemed  to  toss  away 
all  the  restraints  of  my  life,  all  my  ideals,  all  my 
faith  in  God — everything.  It  was  almost  as  if  I 
went  to  my  fall  mocking.  And  yet,  no  sooner  did 
I  speak  to  the  girl  than  I  knew  I  should  protect  her 
from  ruin." 

He  looks  at  me,  and  says  very  slowly :  "  What  I 
am  going  to  tell  you  is  very  difficult  to  put  into 
words.  I  have  studied  myself  so  closely,  however 
— just  as  if  I  were  a  doctor  examining  a  patient — 
that  I  can  give  you  at  least  a  notion  of  my  strange 
case. 

"  I  have  never  committed,  since  my  marriage, 
what  the  world  would  describe  as  a  sin.  The  irre- 
sistible attraction  which  lonely  women  in  the  streets 
at  night  have  for  my  mind  is  that  of  curiosity. 
There  are  times  when  I  simply  cannot  pass  without 
speaking  to  a  girl  who  is  standing  alone  in  the  streets. 
I  feel  I  must  speak  to  her.  I  feel  I  must  talk  with 
her.  And  sometimes  I  feel  that  I  must  tempt  her 
to  the  edge  of  ruin.  I  want  to  know  what  she  is 
doing,  how  she  earns  her  living,  where  she  Hves,  if 
she  is  religious,  how  she  spends  her  leisure,  and 
what  things  she  thinks  about  in  the  privacy  of  her 


138  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

mind.  If  I  become  very  friendly  with  such  a  girl, 
and  we  meet  often,  and  talk  dangerously,  and  she 
becomes  careless  of  everything,  I  always  have  the 
power  to  save  her  from  ruin.  I  have  told  many 
such  girls  that  I  would  rather  die  than  do  them 
harm. 

"  There's  something,  I  can't  tell  you  what,  in 
these  night  encounters  on  the  London  streets  which 
has  for  me  just  such  a  baleful  fascination  as  the 
dipsomaniac  finds  in  alcohol.  It  is  as  difficult  for 
me  sometimes  to  pass  a  soUtary  woman  as  it  is  at 
times  for  a  dipsomaniac  to  pass  a  pubHc-house. 
Many  a  time  I  go  home,  sit  down  with  my  wife  and 
children,  take  up  a  book  or  a  newspaper — and 
then  the  thought  of  women  standing  all  alone  in  the 
dark  street  comes  upon  me  with  a  spring,  and  I 
have  to  get  up  and  go  out.  It's  like  a  madness. 
It's  something  that  I  can't  resist.  It  seems  as  if 
there  are  ghosts  in  aU  the  dark  streets  of  London 
beckoning  and  calling  me.  I  see  a  woman  in  the 
shadows  long  before  I  get  to  her,  and  I  seem  to 
know  instantly  whether  we  shaU  speak  and  become 
friends.  There  seems  to  be  some  telepathic  com- 
munication of  ideas  between  sohtary  souls  in 
London.  A  woman  will  often  look  up  at  me  before 
I  reach  her.  Many  girls  have  said  to  me,  '  I  knew 
you  were  going  to  speak  before  you  came  up.' 

"  It  isn't  only  that  I  seem  to  want  the  sympathy 
of  these  lonely  women.  That  might  be  passed  over 
and  forgiven.  There's  something  else.  I  am 
often  visited  by  a  really  devilish  desire  to  corrupt 
their  minds  and  poison  their  purity.  That  is  what 
depresses  me,    Wh«n  I  am  out  of  these  fits  I  see 


A   SOUL   IN   THE   STREET  139 

how  odious  and  abominable  I  have  been.  But  at 
the  time  I  am  untroubled  ;  I  chuckle  over  it ;  just 
Hke  a  fiend. 

"  The  fit  seizes  me  in  different  ways.  Sometimes 
I  will  go  up  to  a  girl,  ask  what  she  is  doing,  tell  her 
that  I  am  at  a  loose  end,  and  suggest  that  we  go  to 
a  cinematograph  show  or  a  music-hall.  Very  often 
I  have  done  this,  and  parted  from  the  girl  outside 
with  scarcely  another  word.  I  can't  explain  why. 
A  cinematograph  show  or  a  music-hall  would  not 
attract  me  in  the  least  if  I  were  by  myself,  but 
sitting  with  a  strange  girl  at  my  side,  I  enjoy  such 
things  as  much  as  anybody  else.  And  afterwards 
I  just  say  good-bye  to  the  girl,  forget  all  about  her, 
and  go  home  contented — to  feel  in  an  hour  all  the 
anguish  and  contrition  which  follow  a  great  sin. 

"  At  other  times  I  feel  I  must  make  a  girl  drink. 
The  younger  and  the  more  innocent,  the  stronger 
is  this  feeling  with  me.  Horrible  and  dreadful  as 
I  know  this  to  be,  I  am  struck  by  the  curiosity  of 
it.  For  I  am  to  all  intents  and  purposes  a  teetotaller. 
In  my  wholesome  moods  I  recognise  that  alcohol  is 
one  of  the  most  prolific  sources  of  sin  and  crime. 
I  have  argued  for  teetotaHsm  as  hotly  as  any 
fanatic.  It  is  part  of  the  work  I  have  undertaken 
in  connection  with  my  church.  But  when  the  mood 
is  on  me,  I  feel  a  savage  pleasure  in  chaf&ng  a  girl 
to  come  into  a  public-house  and  drink  with  me. 
The  more  she  hangs  back,  the  more  I  persuade. 

"  Sometimes  I  am  visited  by  a  desire  to  find 
in  one  of  these  lonely  women  a  true  affinity,  one 
with  whom  I  can  talk  freely  of  everything  in  my 
soul,  knowing  that  she  will  understand.     Two  or 


140  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

three  times  this  has  happened  to  me.  For  weeks 
and  even  months  I  have  lost  all  sense  of  the  casual 
woman's  attraction,  and  have  been  as  constant  as 
any  lover  to  one  particular  woman.  We  have  met 
as  often  as  possible,  gone  for  long  sohtary  walks, 
met  at  luncheon  in  the  middle  of  the  day,  gone  into 
the  country  on  Saturday  afternoons,  prayed  together 
side  by  side  in  church  on  Sunday  evenings.  And  with 
these  women  I  have  shared  the  whole  of  my  double 
nature.  At  one  moment  I  have  been  as  low  and  vile 
as  sin  can  drag  me,  at  the  next  as  sincere  in  religious 
aspiration  as  a  saint.  In  one  of  these  women  I 
think  I  really  did  find  my  twin  soul.  No  one  would 
beheve  me  if  I  told  him  about  that  girl's  mind. 
She  had  nearly  all  the  heights  and  nearly  aU  the 
depths.  At  one  moment  she  was  saving  my  soul ; 
at  the  next  I  was  saving  hers.  We  loved  and  struggled 
together  tiU  I  thought  it  was  impossible  to  endure 
the  strain.  I  was,  in  fact,  on  the  point  of  yielding 
to  my  lower  nature  and  lettmg  all  my  responsibih- 
ties  go  when  I  got  one  of  those  great  checks  which 
at  various  times  in  my  hfe  have  been  hke  a  hand 
grabbing  my  shoulder  and  puUing  me  with  violence 
away  from  utter  ruin.  In  this  case  it  was  a 
sermon. 

"  I  must  tell  you  that  my  home  life  has  not  been 
happy.  The  discovery  of  my  lower  nature  was  soon 
made.  It  has  been  impossible  for  me  to  make 
amends.  The  fault  is  mine.  No  one  can  recognise 
that  more  clearly  than  I  do.  But  now,  when  I  am 
struggling  hard,  I  could  wish  either  that  what  is 
past  had  never  been  discovered  or  that  it  could  be 
utterly  forgiven  and  forgotten. 


A    SOUL    IN    THE    STREET  141 

"However,  that  is  an  aspect  of  the  case  which  I 
would  rather  not  pursue.  The  interesting  point 
is  the  recurrence  in  my  Hfe  of  the  miracle  of  con- 
version. I  have  never  felt  myself  absolutely  aban- 
doned by  God.  It  is  most  curious  to  observe  how 
I  am  pursued  by  the  invisible  powers  of  mercy.  You 
would  think  I  should  be  afraid  of  making  you  feel 
that  I  am  a  hypocrite.  But  if  I  make  myseK  clear 
you  wiU  not  fall  into  that  error.  There  is  really  no 
element  of  hypocrisy.  I  long  with  a  very  deep  and 
sincere  longing  for  purity  of  heart.  I  go  to  religion, 
when  I  recognise  my  peril,  with  a  perfectly  sincere 
eagerness  for  rescue.  And  again  and  again  in  my 
life  I  have  experienced  such  extraordinary  changes 
of  heart  that  I  cannot  prevent  myself  from  acknow- 
ledging the  miracle  of  conversion.  Many  men  would 
say  that  I  delude  myself,  that  these  occasions  are 
not  instances  of  conversion,  because  the  effect  is 
transient.  I  can  see  that  they  are  certainly  not  the 
profound  conversions  which  are  experienced  by  other 
men  ;  but  just  as  certainly  I  know  that  they  are 
not  delusions.  I  have  felt  myself  quite  swept  away 
towards  God,  and  for  weeks  I  have  Hved  in  the  most 
complete  assurance  of  His  mercy  and  forgiveness. 
Indeed,  at  all  times  in  my  life,  I  have  had  the  feeling 
that  God  alone  knows  my  heart  through  and 
through,  and  that  because  He  does  know  it — black 
and  bad  as  it  is — He  continues  His  mercy.  For 
with  the  evil  propensity  there  has  always  been  the 
reaction  towards  purity. 

"  My  greatest  human  safeguard  has  been  the 
Association.  My  wife  has  implored  me  to  be  more 
regular  in  my  attendance,  even  to  the  point  of 


142  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

urging  me  to  spend  the  whole  of  my  spare  time 
there,  knowing  that  I  get  from  the  members  a 
strengthening  and  energising  of  my  moral  faculties. 
Often  has  she  said  to  me,  'You  always  come  back 
from  the  Association  a  better  and  a  nicer  man.' 
But  for  the  Association — through  which  I  obtained 
material  prosperity — I  think  I  should  have  gone 
to  spiritual  shipwreck.  And  I  will  tell  you  why  I 
say  that.  Directly  a  man  who  is  trying  to  be  good 
commits  a  sin,  he  is  most  powerfully  tempted  to 
abandon  all  effort  and  go  with  the  tide.  He  has  the 
feeling,  first,  that  it  is  useless  to  contend  against 
his  own  nature,  and,  second,  that  he  will  be  a 
hypocrite  if  he  associates  himself  with  religious 
men.  It  is  difficult  for  a  sensitive  mind  to  support 
the  burden  of  this  idea.  It  gives  a  man  the  feeling 
of  a  whipped  dog.  He  seems  to  be  slinking  through 
hfe,  not  walking  upright  and  squarely.  I  imagine 
that  thousands  of  young  men  in  London,  once  pure 
and  religious,  go  to  their  everlasting  ruin  just  through 
this  feeling. 

"It's  a  tremendous  help  to  have  such  an  institu- 
tion as  the  Association,  where  a  man  guilty  of  sin 
can  meet  men,  of  his  own  age  and  circumstances, 
who  are  aHve  with  moral  energy  and  vigorous  with 
spiritual  fervour.  He  gets  something  from  them. 
He  is  ashamed  of  himself,  and  feels  reproached  by 
their  kindness  and  cheerfulness.  They  give  him 
a  new  affection  for  straight  Hving,  an  enthusiasm 
for  the  spiritual  conflict.  And  what  I  feel  particu- 
larly to  be  so  helpful  is  this — a  man  who  goes 
regularly  to  the  Association  and  makes  friendships 
and  takes  part  in  the  general  life  of  the  brotherhood. 


A   SOUL    IN    THE    STREET  143 

gets  to  know  that  spiritual  warfare  is  the  chief  con- 
cern of  the  universe  ;  he  loses,  I  mean,  the  depress- 
ing and  ignominious  sense  that  he  is  tainted,  isolated, 
unique  ;  he  feels  that  every  man  in  the  world  is  en- 
gaged in  the  universal  fight,  and  that  he,  with  his 
particular  trouble,  is  only  one  among  the  millions 
of  the  human  race. 

"  In  church  I  have  the  feeling  of  isolation  and 
guilt.  Everyone  else  is  Peter  and  John,  Martha 
and  Mary — ^I  the  solitary  Judas.  I  don't  say  that 
is  altogether  bad.  Often  I  have  got  a  powerful 
impulse  from  a  church  service.  But  it's  better  in 
the  Association.  There's  a  feeling  of  reahty  and 
comradeship  about  those  gatherings.  I  get  no  end 
of  strength  from  them.  They  save  me  from  despair. 
I  think  if  it  had  not  been  for  this  help  I  should,  long 
ago,  have  sunk  to  the  bottom  of  London  mud. 

"It  is  very  easy  to  give  up  the  struggle.  A 
man's  own  conscience  seems  to  urge  him  in  the 
direction  of  surrender.  All  the  success  in  his  daily 
life — and  I  have  risen  to  be  head  clerk  in  my  ofi&ce 
— seems  nothing,  seems  useless  and  contemptible. 
But  the  kind  word  and  the  true  look  of  another 
man  who  believes  in  God  and  who  makes  him  feel 
that  the  whole  world  is  fighting  for  victory  over 
sin  will  very  often  give  a  poor  wretch  just  the 
necessary  flick  of  courage  which  will  make  him 
struggle  on,  and  hope.  At  least,  I  have  found 
it  so." 

This  man  is  now  in  a  period  of  peace.  Certain 
words  said  to  him  have  restored  his  sense  of  Christ 
as  a  living,  acting  power  for  liberation.  He  has 
emerged  from  the  black  night    of    self-contempt 


144  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

and  pitiless  self-examination.  It  may  be  tliat 
once  again,  or  many  times,  he  will  relapse  ;  but 
for  the  present  at  least  he  feels  himself  on  surer 
ground  than  ever  before.  I  do  not  think  he  will 
ever  become  abandoned  to  an  evil  and  degraded  life, 
though  there  is  that  in  his  nature  which,  without 
religion,  might  drag  him  into  the  worst  of  crimes 
and  the  most  hideous  of  abominations.  Only  re- 
ligion can  hold  such  a  man,  and  only  religion  lift  him 
up  when  he  breaks  free  and  faUs  into  sin. 

He  said  to  me  at  the  end  of  our  talk,  "  The 
tyranny  of  the  habit  was  worse  than  the  love  of  it. 
I  never  was  happy  ;  I  felt  myself  always  to  be  a 
victim.  And  now  I  have  the  feeling  of  deHverance, 
the  sensation  that  a  monster  has  been  knocked 
from  off  my  shoulders,  as  if  I  am  at  last  truly  my 
real  self." 

If  this  story  only  depresses  you  I  fear  that  you 
are  one  of  those  who  have  never  once  stopped 
on  your  road,  reined  in  your  mule,  and  dismounted 
to  bind  up  the  wounds  of  a  fallen  feUow-creature. 
There  are  those  who  cannot  bear  to  look  upon  a 
wound,  for  whom  the  sight  of  blood  has  a  frightful 
horror,  and  who  turn  away  from  the  fallen  man, 
not  that  they  grudge  carrying  him  on  their  mules 
to  the  nearest  inn  and  discharging  the  landlord's 
demands,  but  because  their  sense  of  refinement  is 
too  sharp  and  poignant  for  contact  with  gaping 
flesh  and  oozing  blood.  But  there  is  something 
infinitely  greater  than  refinement,  something  with- 
out which  the  f ulhiess  of  the  nobihty  of  human  nature 
can  never  be  attained  ;  and  this  thing  is  charity. 


A    SOUL    IN    THE    STREET  145 

Many  and  great  are  the  wounds  of  fallen  humanity. 
The  professional  physician,  in  the  form  of  psy- 
chologist and  philosopher,  stops  to  examine  those 
wounds,  delivers  to  the  crowd  an  interesting  lecture 
on  the  result  of  his  examination,  and,  in  the  name  of 
science,  reproaches  those  who  accuse  him  of  a  mor- 
bid interest  in  the  unnatural  and  abnormal.  But 
it  is  only  the  great  Physician  Himself  Who  stops  on 
His  way,  bends  over  the  fallen  man,  pours  oil  into 
the  wound,  lifts  him  up  from  the  ground,  and 
carries  him  away  to  a  place  of  safety. 

Those  who  are  disciples  of  the  great  Physician 
must  neither  pass  by  on  the  other  side  nor  stop 
merely  in  the  interests  of  experimental  psychology. 
They  must  bend  down  with  love  and  pity,  to  com- 
fort and  to  heal. 

I  do  not  think  a  man  can  ever  understand  the 
meaning  of  that  phrase  "The  love  of  God" — "God 
BO  loved  the  world  " — ^until  he  has  a  deep  acquaint- 
ance with  the  horrors  of  sin  and  the  depths  of 
degradation  to  which  the  human  mind  can  sink. 
We  are  apt  to  turn  away  with  disgust  from  the 
frightful,  drunken  harridan,  reeling  blasphemous 
and  filthy  through  the  midnight  streets,  and  to  feel 
a  profound  aversion  from  the  hard  and  scoffing 
man  of  sensual  habits  ;  but  not  only  are  these 
sad  people  included  in  the  Universal  Love  of  God, 
but  those  who  have  sunk  to  sins  more  dreadful, 
and  those  who  have  contracted  the  strangest  and 
the  worst  diseases  of  the  soul. 

We  find  it  hard  even  to  think  kindly  of  such 
people,  we  who  are  ourselves  stained  by  I  know 
not  how  many  sins  and  visited  by  temptations 


146  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

perhaps  of  a  like  nature  ;  but  Christ,  the  Son  of 
God,  the  exquisite,  innocent,  and  most  holy  Christ, 
not  only  thought  kiadly  of  such  people,  but  wont 
to  them,  embraced  them,  ministered  to  them, 
and  sought  to  heal  them. 

It  is  not  in  the  definitions  of  theologians  that  I 
come  to  a  reahsation  of  Christ's  Divinity,  but  by 
a  steadfast  contemplation  of  His  attitude  towards 
sinful  men.  That  amazing  title  "  Friend  of 
Sinners  "  has  more  of  wonder  and  glory  and  divinity 
for  me  than  all  the  clauses  of  the  Athanasian  Creed. 
The  one  vexes  my  intellect ;  the  other  touches 
my  heart.  The  Son  of  God  had  hard  and  burning 
words  for  the  orthodox  rehgious  of  His  day  ;  He  had 
nothing  but  love  and  tenderness,  entreaty  and  tears, 
for  those  from  whom  we  are  too  prone  to  turn  with 
horror  or  contempt. 

No  man,  I  suppose,  who  has  not  learned  to  what 
depths  the  soul  may  sink,  to  what  ruin  and  state 
of  putrefaction  that  soul  may  come  in  the  mire  of 
the  pit  of  iafamy,  can  either  feel  the  fullness  of  the 
wonder  of  Christ's  love,  or  understand  the  meaning 
of  those  words,  "  Joy  shall  be  in  heaven  over  one 
sinner  that  repenteth,  more  than  over  ninety  and 
nine  just  persons  which  need  no  repentance," 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   OPENING    OF  A   DOOR 

"  A  LIFE,"  writes  William  James,  "  is  manly, 
.^l\.  stoical,  moral,  or  philosophical,  we  say,  in 
proportion  as  it  is  Jess  swayed  by  paltry  personal 
considerations  and  more  by  objective  ends  that  call 
for  energy,  even  though  that  energy  bring  personal 
loss  and  pain.  This  is  the  good  side  of  war,  in  so 
far  as  it  caUs  for  '  volunteers.'  And  for  morality 
life  is  a  war,  and  the  service  of  the  highest  is  a  sort 
of  cosmic  patriotism  which  also  calls  for  volunteers." 
Such  a  volunteer  is  the  man  with  whom  this  story 
is  concerned.  To  him  Mystery  is  a  fact  of  Hfe,  but 
nothing  of  the  mystic  shows  in  the  man's  appearance. 
He  is  tall,  broad-shouldered,  deep-chested,  and 
muscularly  upright.  He  makes  one  think  of  a 
soldier  who  has  seen  much  service  and  won 
great  honour.  One  feels,  looking  at  the  healthful 
face,  which  really  burns  with  happiness,  that  for 
him  it  has  never  been  difficult  to  obey  the  injunction 
of  Joubert,  "  Finally,  we  must  love  life  while  we  have 
it :  it  is  a  duty.^^  He  is  one  of  those  vigorous  men 
whose  very  voice  is  a  rousing  optimism.  To  have 
him  fighting  at  one's  side  in  a  tight  corner,  or 
leading  a  forlorn  hope,  would  inspire  courage,  I 
think,  in  the  most  cowardly.    Nothing,  one  imagines, 

147 


148  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

could  ever  sink  his  joy  or  dash  his  fortitude  with 
misgiving. 

Such  is  the  man's  appearance,  such  is  the  impres- 
sion made  upon  one's  imagination  by  his  outward 
form.  But  speak  to  him,  and  you  find  that  he 
shrinks  from  even  a  military  metaphor,  that  he  will 
not  allow  you  to  call  him  a  soldier  of  Christ,  that 
his  nature  is  modest,  sensitive,  humble  and  retiring 
almost  to  bashfulness.  He  told  me  that  I  might 
call  him  a  labourer,  a  peasant  of  Christianity,  but 
certainly  not  a  soldier.  The  great  strong  vigorous 
man  is  as  kind  and  gentle  as  a  child. 

There  is  a  foolish  habit  among  certain  writers  to 
speak  of  the  religious  type.  From  the  most  modern 
novelist,  who  would  sacrifice  everything  for  his 
conception  of  reahty,  down  to  the  dreariest  comedian 
of  the  music-hall  stage  who  imitates  the  unctuous 
curate  of  a  bygone  age,  there  is  a  disposition  to 
portray  the  religious  man  as  a  particular  order  of 
the  human  species,  easily  recognisable  by  certain 
distinct  characteristics  and  swayed  by  a  particular 
temperament  which  is  common  to  the  refigious  of 
aU  nations.  This  very  ignorant  and  whoUy  un- 
philosophical  attitude  of  mind  misses  the  great 
wonder  of  religion.  Nothing  is  more  obvious, 
nothing  is  more  striking,  nothing  is  more  interesting 
to  the  true  and  honest  philosopher,  than  the 
universality  of  the  rehgious  spirit.  Men  of  the  most 
various  temperament  and  the  most  diverse  cir- 
cumstances in  hfe  are  impelled  by  the  pressure 
of  the  soul,  often  along  quite  different  roads,  to  the 
many  kingdoms  of  immortahty.  From  Pascal  to 
Bunyan,  from  Milton  to  Kelvin,  from  Newman  to 


THE   OPENING   OF   A   DOOR  149 

William  Blake,  from  Bishop  Gore  to  General  Booth, 
from  yourseK  to  the  man  who  lives  next  door  to  you, 
are  there  not  to  be  found  in  the  multitudinous  army 
of  God  every  order  of  individual  and  every  type 
of  human  character  ?  Consider  the  separation 
which  divides  John  Lawrence,  of  India,  from 
Brother  Lawrence  of  The  Practice  of  the  Presence 
of  God.  Think  of  the  infinity  of  variation  which 
lies  between  Livingstone  and  Goethe.  Reflect 
upon  the  steUar  space  which  stretches  from  the  soul 
of  Tolstoy  to  the  soul  of  Manning.  And  what  Hkeness 
can  be  found  in  the  hfe  of  Kingsley  to  the  life  of 
Swedenborg  ?  To  look  carefully  upon  the  Church 
of  Christ  is  to  look  upon  the  world.  "  I  will  draw," 
said  the  Saviour,  "  all  men  unto  Me." 

In  this  story  the  reader  finds  himself  glancing  at 
the  Hfe  of  a  successful  business  man  who  is  conscious 
of  the  mystery  of  the  universe,  who  has  felt  himself 
definitely  swayed  by  invisible  agencies,  and  who  is 
^  gay?  bright-hearted,  and  most  vahant  labourer 
for  God.  Strangely  different  is  he  from  the  type  of 
religious  person  in  contemporary  novels,  and  yet  he 
is  but  one  of  a  vast  host  whom  you  pass  every  day 
in  the  streets  of  a  city,  the  ordinary  man  in  the 
ordinary  world  of  commonplace,  to  whom  the  extra- 
ordinary thing  has  happened  and  for  whom  ever- 
more life  is  ennobled  by  a  "  cosmic  patriotism." 

He  is  a  Welshman  ;  a  man  some  fifty  years  of  age  ; 
fine-looking,  as  I  have  suggested,  with  the  spirit 
of  the  soldier  both  in  face  and  figure.  His  eyes 
are  extraordinarily  bright,  with  sheer  happiness  ; 
the  skin  has  the  glow  of  perfect  health  ;  his  deep 
voice  is  melodious  and  good-humoured.    He  seems 


150  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

to  rejoice  in  everything.  He  speaks  with  the 
same  ringing  enthusiasm  of  physical  exercise, 
sleeping  in  the  open  air,  and  temperate  eating  as 
characterises  his  references  to  the  joy  and  glory  of 
the  rehgious  Ufe — the  active  religious  life.  He  is 
above  everything  else  a  man  of  action — one  who 
recognises  that  a  true  Christian  must  make  himself 
an  instrument  in  the  Hand  of  God,  and  for  the 
glory  of  God  work  hard  and  ever  for  the  Kingdom 
of  righteousness. 

There  is  no  point  in  his  Ufe  at  which  he  recognises 
the  mystery  of  a  single  yielding  of  his  spirit — 
a  definite  hour  of  the  soul  with  God.  He  does  not 
speak  of  his  conversion  as  a  single  moment  of 
sudden  apprehension.  Illumination  was  in  his 
soul  from  early  childhood,  a  dim  light  at  the 
beginning,  but  one  which  has  increased  in  bright- 
ness with  the  development  of  his  other  faculties. 
He  has  been  without  the  sense  of  God,  he 
has  suffered  and  questioned,  but  he  has  never 
fallen  into  desperate  sin  nor  surrendered  himself  to 
the  indifference  of  agnosticism. 

"  I  owe  everything,"  he  says,  with  a  charming 
tenderness,  "  to  my  mother.  Ah,  her  death  ! — it 
froze  everj^hing.  She  taught  herself  geography 
by  writing  to  her  sons.  From  the  days  when  we  lay 
in  her  lap  to  the  days  when  we  were  middle-aged 
men  scattered  all  over  the  world,  she  poured  out  a 
great  tide  of  love  upon  us  aU,  a  love  which  was  as 
wise  and  inteUigent  as  it  was  deep  and  gentle.  I 
beheve  her  letters  to  her  sons,  in  their  manhood, 
helped  to  preserve  their  purity  and  sense  of 
honour," 


THE   OPENING   OF  A  DOOR         151 

He  saw  something  of  poverty  and  distress  in  the 
town  where  his  childhood  was  spent,  and  came 
gradually  and  as  it  were  unconsciously  to  know  the 
horror  of  hfe,  the  cruelty  of  circumstance,  the 
bitterness  of  sin  and  suffering. 

"  There  was  in  our  town  a  small  branch  of  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  and  as  soon  as 
we  were  old  enough  to  join  it  some  of  us  became 
members.  It  was  there  that  I  first  got  a  chance 
of  doing  something  for  others." 

At  this  time  he  was  old  enough  to  see  what  sin 
did  in  the  lives  of  men.  He  could  not  take  a  walk 
through  the  streets  or  hsten  to  the  gossip  at  the 
supper-table  without  learning  that  sin  is  the  enemy 
of  happiness,  the  great  discordant  element  in 
human  hfe.  At  first  he  could  not  understand  how 
men — intelligent  and  sensible  men — could  drink 
themselves  into  wretchedness  and  ill-health.  That 
a  man  should  ever  come  to  spend  his  money  on 
drink,  while  his  children  went  in  rags  and  actually 
lacked  food,  staggered  his  mind.  He  saw  that 
bad  men  are  lower  than  the  meanest  of  animals. 
He  saw  to  what  depths  of  unnatural  infamy  the  soul 
may  come  when  it  denies  the  laws  of  God. 

**  I  was  impressed  and  perhaps  influenced  by 
the  Sunday  afternoon  services  which  the  Asso- 
ciation used  to  hold,  during  the  summer  months, 
on  the  side  of  the  mountains  overlooking  the  town, 

**  It  was  very  beautiful  and  calm.  The  whole 
earth  seemed  to  lie  at  our  feet.  Above  our  heads 
was  the  blue  of  heaven,  Uke  the  blessing  of  God. 
And  looking  down  from  the  rock  of  the  mountain, 
over  the  grassy  sides  which  were  bright  with  little 


152  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

flowers  and  soft  with  the  foliage  of  trees  which 
shone  in  the  sunHght,  I  used  to  gaze  into  the  city 
under  the  haze  which  floated  over  the  roofs,  and, 
while  we  were  singing  hymns  or  listening  to  the 
words  of  Christ,  think  of  all  the  sin  and  misery, 
all  the  unhappiness  and  ugliness,  which  was  hidden 
in  its  crowded  streets." 

One  is  reminded  of  Carlyle.  "  Oh,  under  that 
hideous  coverlet  of  vapours,  and  putrefactions,  and 
unimaginable  gases,  what  a  fermenting  -  vat  Hes 
simmering  and  hid  !  The  joyful  and  the  sorrowful 
are  there  ;  men  are  dying  there,  men  are  being  born  ; 
men  are  praying — on  the  other  side  of  a  brick 
partition  men  are  cursing  ;  and  around  them  all  is 
the  vast,  void  Night.  .  .  .  All  these  heaped  and 
huddled  together,  with  nothing  but  a  Httle  car- 
pentry and  masonry  between  them  ; — crammed  in, 
like  salted  fish  in  their  barrel ; — or  weltering,  shaU 
I  say,  like  an  Egyptian  pitcher  of  tamed  vipers, 
each  struggling  to  get  its  head  above  the  others  : 
such  work  goes  on  under  that  smoke  counterpane  !  " 

The  young  Welshman  on  the  mountain  -  side 
realised  that  there  was  another  remedy  for  aU 
this  misery  than  a  flow  of  splendid,  stimulating 
rhetoric.  He  beHeved  that  each  man  suffering 
and  unhappy  in  that  "  Egyptian  pitcher  of  tamed 
vipers,"  before  he  could  become  glad  of  life  and 
profoundly  happy  in  his  spirit,  must  surrender  his 
heart  to  God,  must  accept  Christ  for  his  Saviour, 
and  live  henceforth  with  the  music  of  eternity  in 
his  soul.  He  thought  of  political  remedies.  He 
concerned  himself  occasionally  with  sociological 
theories     and    the    theses     of    philosophy.      But 


THE   OPENING  OF  A  DOOR         153 

more  often,  perhaps,  he  reahsed  that  then  and 
there — with  all  the  existing  laws  and  in  all  the 
existing  circumstances,  without  change  of  any  kind 
in  the  physical  conditions  of  that  daily  Ufe — all 
the  misery  and  wretchedness,  all  the  unhappiness  and 
conflict,  all  the  desperation,  ruin,  and  thousandfold 
vexations  of  heart  and  brain,  would  cease  instantly, 
be  as  if  they  had  never  been,  did  the  town  but 
kneel  before  their  Father  in  heaven  and  acknowledge 
the  Love  of  Christ. 

And  it  was  not  only  that  he  saw  through  religion 
this  change  in  the  lot  of  the  wicked  and  unhappy, 
but  he  saw  through  rehgion,  true  reHgion,  a  change 
in  the  lives  of  the  moral  and  prosperous.  He 
visualised  those  prosperous  people  active  in  the 
service  of  Christ,  ministering  to  the  sick  and  sad, 
helping  the  poor,  strengthening  the  weak,  teaching 
the  young,  and  comforting  the  old  ;  so  that  the 
town  became  not  a  city  divided  against  itself,  but  a 
united  family  of  the  human  race,  of  whom  God  was 
the  acknowledged  Father. 

"  It  was  there,"  he  told  me,  "  that  I  began  to  long 
for  more  active  work,  that  I  heard  the  caU  of  my 
Master  to  serve  with  His  labourers.  And  the  call 
was  not  to  any  work  in  the  ministry,  but  to  work 
as  a  layman  among  laymen — ^which  is  the  spirit  of 
the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association.  I  deter- 
mined to  fight  against  sin,  to  be  ever  on  the  side  of 
Christ,  and  at  the  same  time  to  earn  my  bread  by 
honest  work  while  I  marched  in  the  ranks  of  the 
human  army,  a  simple  private." 

From  this  point  he  comes  to  an  extraordinary 
thing  in  his  Mfe.    He  has  never  told  it  to  the  world, 


154  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

only  a  few  of  his  friends  know  about  it,  and  he 
told  it  to  me  before  he  quite  realised  what  he  had 
done — carried  away  by  his  honesty  as  he  sought  to 
go  back  thirty  years  in  his  life  and  trace  the  in- 
fluences which  had  shaped  it. 

"  I  obtained,"  he  told  me,  "  an  important  ap- 
pointment, the  nature  of  which  I  do  not  wish  to 
disclose.  But  it  was  an  appointment  which  pro- 
vided me  with  something  more  than  money  and 
something  more  than  authority — ^it  provided  me 
with  the  enthusiasm  of  ambition. 

"  For  a  long  time  I  thought  myself  the  most 
fortunate  man  in  the  town.  My  mother  was 
dehghted.  My  brothers  were  proud  of  me.  All  my 
friends  said  that  I  was  an  exceedingly  lucky  fellow. 
Such  was  the  state  of  things  with  me,  when  a  change 
in  the  organisation  of  this  service  introduced  and 
made  necessary  a  certain  duty  which  violated  my 
conscience.  If  I  stayed  in  my  appointment,  I  had 
to  do  something  which  my  conscience  told  me 
was  wrong.  And  if  I  refused  to  do  this  thing, 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  dismissal. 

"  I  was  conscious  of  a  great  depression.  I  went 
about  the  world  in  a  very  wretched  condition, 
feeling  that  my  career  was  now  broken,  that  I 
must  inevitably  resign,  and  not  knowing  in  the 
least  what  would  become  of  me. 

"  I  made  it  a  matter  of  prayer,  I  read  the  Bible 
for  guidance.  .  .  . 

"  The  weight  of  depression  gradually  Hghtened, 
leaving  me  uncertain,  teased,  perplexed,  I  was 
unhappy  in  a  tolerable  way. 

"  During  this  time  I  was  following  my  official 


THE   OPENING   OF  A  DOOR         155 

career  and  spending  my  Sunday  afternoons  with 
the  class  in  a  local  Sunday-school  to  which  I  had 
devoted  myseK  for  some  time. 

"  One  Sunday  afternoon  I  was  teaching  my 
class  when,  at  the  sudden  opening  of  the  door, 
I  experienced  a  strange,  indescribable  feeling.  I 
cannot  make  you  understand  the  sensation,  which 
seemed  suddenly  to  run  all  through  my  body, 
except  by  saying  that  I  knew,  just  as  if  I  had  been 
told,  that  something  was  going  to  happen.  In  a 
moment  my  Hstlessness,  my  vexation,  my  sense  of  a 
divided  and  uncertain  consciousness,  vanished  clean 
out  of  my  mind.  I  was  startled  by  a  vivid  appre- 
hension of  expectation.  Something  was  going  to 
happen.    Then.    Immediately.    To  me. 

*'  That  was  the  feeling  as  weU  as  I  can  describe 
what  is  really  indescribable.  The  door  had  opened, 
a  stranger  had  entered,  and  before  he  spoke  a  word 
I  felt  that  something  was  going  to  happen  to  me. 

"  And  now  I  must  tell  you  something  more 
strange  and  more  difficult  to  explain.  As  the  door 
opened  an  intuition  came  to  me  which  seemed  to 
say,  *  Speak  to  this  man,^ 

"The  man  who  had  entered  the  schoolroom 
was,  as  I  have  said,  a  complete '  stranger.  I  sur- 
mised from  his  appearance  that  he  was  an  EngHsh- 
man.  Something  apart  from  my  intuition  attracted 
me  to  this  man.  I  went  towards  him  and  spoke 
to  him. 

"  He  told  me  that  he  was  an  EngUshman,  and 
explained  that  he  was  interested  in  children  and 
methods  of  education.  I  offered  to  show  him  the 
Sunday-school.      All    the    time  I  was  explaining 


156  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

things  to  him  I  had  the  feeling  that  this  man  had 
come  to  me  by  the  mercy  of  God.  I  did  not 
know  in  what  way  he  would  afiect  my  hfe,  but 
I  was  sure,  strangely,  very  strangely  and  absolutely 
sure,  that  he  would  change  the  conditions  which 
were  then  afflicting  me.  ShaU  I  put  it  in  the  simplest 
way  ?  I  knew  this  man  had  come  to  me  in  answer 
to  my  prayer. 

"  After  he  had  Hstened  to  my  lesson  to  the 
children  I  inquired  if  he  had  yet  seen  the  town, 
placing  myself  entirely  at  his  disposal  if  he  should 
care  to  go  sight-seeing. 

"  We  left  the  school,  and  went  out  into  the 
streets. 

"  We  had  not  done  very  much  sight-seeing  when 
I  opened  my  heart  and  told  him  the  whole  story 
of  my  difficulty.  Now,  this  may  seem  a  simple 
thing  to  say,  but  in  reahty  it  was  as  strange  as  the 
first  sensation  of  expectancy  which  had  come  to  me 
at  the  opening  of  the  door.  And  I  wiU  tell  you  why. 
In  the  first  place,  remember,  this  man  was  a 
perfect  stranger  to  me.  In  the  second,  he  was  not 
Welsh,  and  could  hardly  be  expected  to  understand 
the  local  difficulties  of  the  situation.  And  in  the 
third,  the  whole  matter  was  of  so  private  and 
dehcate  a  character  that  even  now,  many  years 
afterwards,  I  cannot  declare  it  without  causing 
unpleasantness  and  doing  harm. 

"  Yet  I  opened  my  heart  and  explained  everything 
to  that  stranger  !  I  felt  that  this  confidence,  so 
difficult  for  me  to  give,  so  difficult  for  him  to 
understand,  was  aU  of  a  piece  with  the  mystery 
which  seemed  at  that  time  to  take  my  life  out  of 


THE   OPENING   OF   A  DOOK         157 

my  own  keeping.  I  felt  then,  and  I  feel  now,  that 
the  invisible  forces  of  God  were  active  with  my 
soul.  Nothing  else  of  a  Hke  kind  has  ever  happened 
to  me.  I  have  never  experienced  any  of  those 
mysterious  things  which  happen  to  men  in  moments 
of  elation  or  at  times  of  great  abasement.  My  hfe 
before  that  day  was  singularly  normal,  and  ever 
since  it  has  been  the  hard  and  healthy  life  of  an 
ordinary  business  man.  But  on  that  day,  as  sure 
as  I  am  Hving  now,  something  happened  to  me 
that  was  not  normal,  not  ordinary,  and  not  a 
delusion. 

*'  Well,  the  Enghshman  heard  me  out,  and  then 
turned  to  me  with  a  smile  and  said,  '  You  are 
perfectly  right ;  it  would  be  a  sin  for  you  to  go 
against  your  conscience.  I  tell  you  what  you  must 
do.  You  must  resign  at  once,  and  come  with  me 
to  London.' 

*'  Of  course  I  had  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  ! 
To  leave  Wales,  the  country  that  I  loved,  seemed 
at  the  moment  a  hard,  almost  an  impossible  thing. 
And  yet,  even  with  the  shudder  that  came  to  me 
at  the  thought  of  leaving  home,  I  had  the  feeling 
that  God  was  leading  me  to  England. 

"And  this  feeling  deepened,  when  I  talked  to  the 
Enghshman,  as  we  walked  through  the  streets  of  the 
town.  I  discovered  that  he  was  a  most  earnest 
Christian.  He  took  me  back  to  his  hotel,  and 
I  sat  with  him  for  a  long  time,  talking  of  rehgion 
and  the  problem  of  my  own  Hfe,  which  was  inter- 
woven with  rehgion. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  what  occurred  to  me  on  my 
arrival  in  London.      You   must  be  content   with 


158  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

things  as  they  are  at  this  present  time.  Ever  since 
I  came  things  have  prospered  with  me  in  a  most 
amazing  way.  But,  of  course,  I  recognised  from  the 
outset  that  God  did  not  bring  me  to  England 
only  to  prosper  me  and  give  me  easy  circumstances. 
And  I  can  tell  you  how  I  came  to  see  what  work 
was  ready  for  my  hand,  work  in  His  Name  and  to 
His  Glory. 

"  One  of  the  first  things  I  did  on  coming  to  London 
was  to  join  the  Central  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association.  I  was  very  happy  there.  I  made  true 
friends  and  learned  the  outlook  of  the  Enghsh  mind 
on  reUgion  and  social  problems.  I  threw  myself 
into  the  missionary  work,  thinking  that  it  was  for 
this  God  had  brought  me  to  England.  Services 
and  Bible  classes  were  held  at  that  time  with 
something  of  the  enthusiasm  of  a  rehgious  revival. 
I  gave  up  every  hour  of  my  spare  time  to  this  work, 
helping  to  save  people  at  the  same  time  that  I 
myseK  was  learning. 

"  How  it  quite  happened  I  cannot  distinctly 
remember,  but  I  think  this  was  the  beginning.  One 
night  a  man  was  standing  on  the  steps  of  our  old 
hall  in  the  Strand,  inviting  people  to  come  in  and 
join  our  meeting,  when  he  saw  two  Frenchmen  going 
past,  laughing  and  festive,  certainly  in  no  mood  for 
a  religious  meeting.  They  seemed  to  stand  out  from 
all  the  other  people  crowding  by.  Something  moved 
him  towards  them.  He  went  down  the  steps,  took 
the  arm  of  the  man  nearest  to  me,  and  in  his  own 
language  invited  him  to  come  in  and  join  our  meeting. 
They  were  both  surprised.  After  a  moment  they 
became  self-conscious  and  awkward.     They  tried 


THE   OPENING  OF  A  DOOR         159 

to  laugh  it  off.  Gently  he  persisted  with  his  invita- 
tion.   Finally  they  yielded. 

"  Now,  one  of  those  men  was  converted  at  the 
end  of  the  meeting.  He  is  at  this  time  of  day — 
more  than  twenty  years  afterwards — a  most  ardent 
supporter  of  the  Association.  And  he  told  me  that 
at  the  moment  of  that  invitation  he  was  walking 
with  his  friend  in  the  Strand  looking  out  for  an 
opportunity  for  vice — the  usual  thing  for  which 
the  Strand  was  even  more  infamous  then  than  it 
is  at  the  present  time. 

"  He  had  only  just  arrived  in  England.  On 
landing  it  had  seemed  that  a  new  hfe  was  begun  for 
him.  In  London  he  was  instantly  aware  of  the 
contagion  of  vice  and  felt  the  attraction  of  sin. 
But,  at  the  meeting,  something  that  was  said 
about  home-Hfe  touched  his  heart  with  remembrance 
of  his  mother.  A  thousand  beautiful  memories  came 
crowding  back  to  his  soul.  The  tears,  he  told  me, 
rushed  to  his  eyes.  He  thought  of  the  evil  deed 
he  had  just  contemplated,  and  shrank  in  horror 
from  the  man  he  had  so  suddenly  become  in  a  few 
hours  from  leaving  home.  When  the  invitation 
came  at  the  end  of  the  meeting  for  those  who  felt 
the  need  of  a  Saviour  to  stand  up  and  declare  them- 
selves soldiers  of  Christ,  this  Frenchman  stood  up 
and  gave  himself  for  Hfe  and  for  eternity  to  the 
service  of  God." 

Incidents  of  this  nature  influenced  the  young 
Welshman  to  take  up  definite  work  in  the  foreign 
section  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  a 
branch  of  its  work  Httle  known  to  the  general  pubHc. 

He  saw  the  peril  of  young  foreigners  in  the  London 


160  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

streets.  They  come,  many  of  them,  from  good 
homes,  and  straightway  are  thrown  to  the  mercies 
of  the  world  in  the  great  glaring  streets  of  London. 
Before  they  can  get  their  feet,  before  they  can  get 
estabhshed  on  a  virtuous  foundation,  they  are 
seduced  by  the  apparent  friendliness  and  kindness 
of  vice.  They  are  alone,  soHtary,  afraid.  No  one 
is  there  to  take  their  hand,  to  help  them,  to  show 
them  kindness.  The  great,  terrible  city  appals 
and  overwhelms  them.  And  then  they  see  what 
looks  hke  kindness,  what  looks  like  friendship, 
what  certainly  appears  to  be  bright,  gay,  cheerful, 
merry,  and  good-hearted.  Is  it  wonderful  that  some 
of  these  lonely  men  in  London  forget  the  home  left 
behind  in  France,  in  Switzerland,  in  Italy,  in 
Germany  ? 

The  man  in  this  story  felt  a  compassion  for 
these  young  foreigners  in  London,  and  devoted  his 
spare  time  to  working  for  them.  He  recognised  in 
this  particular  work  a  call  from  God.  He  assisted 
in  the  building  up  of  the  foreign  section  of  the 

oung  Men's  Christian  Association,  and  to-day  he 
is  still  one  of  the  men  who  give  up  their  leisure 
to  this  branch  of  the  Association's  activity.  He  does 
not  boast  of  what  he  has  done  ;  he  rather  seeks 
to  minimise  his  part  of  the  work,  and  to  ascribe  to 
others  the  measure  of  success  which  it  has  obtained, 
but  one  learns  from  those  who  know  the  truth  of 
the  matter  how  lavishly  he  has  given  both  time  and 
money  to  the  work.  There  must  be  many  men 
scattered  all  over  the  world  who  owe  their  salvation, 
humanly  speaking,  to  the  devotion  of  this  honest 
labourer  for  God, 


THE   OPENING  OF  A  DOOR         161 

In  the  new  building  of  the  Central  Association 
in  Tottenham  Court  Road,  provision  is  made  on  a 
generous  scale  for  the  work  of  the  foreign  section. 
It  is  greatly  to  be  hoped  that  no  effort  wiU  be  spared 
to  make  this  work  thoroughly  successful.  For  it 
requires  no  imagination  to  see  how  great  may  be 
the  benefit  to  humanity,  to  all  nations  and  all 
countries,  from  a  rehgious  brotherhood  which 
includes  men  of  all  languages  and  unites  representa- 
tives of  all  peoples  in  the  common  faith  of  an  active 
Christianity.  There  are  branches  of  the  Association 
throughout  the  world,  but  a  central  brotherhood  of 
international  character  in  London — where  the 
peoples  of  so  many  countries  come  into  daily 
collision — must  have  a  useful  influence  among  all 
the  nations. 

I  can  assure  the  reader,  who  may  possibly  be 
dull  and  bored  by  his  existence,  that  he  would 
find  most  interesting  employment  for  his  time  in 
this  branch  of  the  Association's  work.  Here,  as 
elsewhere,  the  scope  is  boundless. 


CHAPTER  IX 
MASTER  AND   MAN 

THE  man  tells  the  story,  and  it  is  his  own  story  ; 
but  as  he  tells  it  one  feels  that  the  master 
is  there  also,  standing  behind  him,  watching, 
listening,  and  guilty,  Uke  a  prisoner  in  the  dock. 

Let  me  say  at  the  outset  that  since  hearing  the 
man's  story  I  have  made  independent  inquiries 
and  found  that  certainly  the  central  facts  of  what 
he  told  me  are  perfectly  true.  Let  me  also  say 
that  I  know  in  my  own  experience  at  least  three 
cases  similar  to  that  of  the  master  in  this  story. 

He  was  born  in  London,  the  son  of  a  small  trades- 
man in  the  City,  and  grew  up  to  boyhood  in  the 
shadow  of  tall  warehouses  that  closed  about  him 
like  prison  walls.  He  was  quick  and  independent, 
something  of  a  humorist,  and  perfectly  contented 
with  his  Cockney  fate. 

Gradually  he  perceived  that  things  were  going 
wrong  between  his  father  and  mother.  At  the  time 
he  did  not  realise  the  grounds  of  this  divergence,  but 
learned  afterwards  that  the  father  was  unfaithful. 
He  saw  that  his  mother  was  miserable,  depressed, 
and  that  she  frequently  gave  way  to  weeping.  He 
noticed  that  his  father's  manner  was  increasingly 

162 


MASTER    AND    MAN  163 

hard  and  unkind.  This  was  the  child's  earliest 
contact  with  perplexity  and  confusion. 

The  lease  of  the  shop  fell  in  ;  the  father  came  to 
loggerheads  with  his  landlord  ;  there  was  a  sudden 
explosion  in  the  domestic  hfe,  and  that  httle  home 
in  the  centre  of  London's  trade  ceased  to  exist. 

The  mother  took  her  children  to  a  village  in 
Surrey  ;  the  father  disappeared  out  of  their  life. 
He  had  given  himself  to  sin,  and  sin  carried  him 
far  away  from  the  family  circle. 

At  an  early  age  it  became  necessary  for  the  boy 
to  earn  his  living.  Influence  procured  him  a  place 
in  one  of  the  warehouses  whose  walls  had  over- 
shadowed his  childhood.  He  went  to  London  and 
became  a  wage-earner. 

Up  to  this  period  his  training  had  been  that  of  an 
ordinary  boy  in  humble  circumstances — ^the  board 
school,  perfunctory  religious  observances  in  the 
home,  and  the  Sunday-school.  He  was  moral,  but 
he  had  no  rehgious  feeling. 

The  immensity  of  the  warehouse  stunned  and 
overwhelmed  him  at  first.  He  was  homesick,  and 
miserable,  and  rather  frightened.  Two  or  three  days 
after  his  arrival,  however,  he  received  a  letter. 
It  was  addressed  to  him  from  a  local  branch  of  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  and  invited 
him  to  tea.  He  was  flattered  by  the  invitation, 
was  conscious,  he  told  me,  of  a  sense  of  importance, 
and  felt  relieved  to  find  that  he  had  friends  in 
London.  The  horror  of  the  Hving-in  system,  which 
at  that  time  was  stiU  bad,  had  begun  to  affect  his 
nerves. 

As  he  entered  the  premises  of  the  Association  he 


164  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

was  greeted  by  name,  and  was  at  once  introduced 
to  other  young  men  of  his  own  age.  A  feehng  of 
comfort  and  pleasantness  destroyed  his  nervousness. 
He  felt  happy  and  at  ease. 

He  became  a  member,  and  spent  most  of  his 
leisure  hours  in  the  building.  He  formed  friendships, 
attended  lectures,  played  games,  read  the  papers, 
and  was  present  at  some  of  the  prayer  meetings. 
Religion  did  not  at  once  exert  an  influence  on  his 
character,  but  it  was  there  in  the  atmosphere  of  that 
social  life,  colouring  the  man's  mind  unconsciously, 
if  not  consciously  shaping  his  character. 

And  the  next  stage  in  his  development  brought  it 
nearer  to  his  soul. 

He  became  aware  of  human  nature's  strongest 
passion. 

Ordinarily  he  is  the  most  quiet  of  men,  a  veritable 
Cockney,  drawling  his  words,  smiling  at  his  en- 
thusiasms, and  for  ever  seasoning  his  serious 
speech  with  a  quaint  phrase,  a  telling  piece  of 
slang,  or  an  amusing  story.  But  when  he  spoke  of 
those  temptations  in  his  early  manhood,  he  became 
almost  fervent  in  his  efforts  to  describe  the  furnace 
through  which  he  passed. 

"  I  think  I  may  fairly  say,"  he  began  slowly, 
"  though  it's  a  hard  thing  to  say  of  one's  own  father, 
but  I  think  I  may  say  I  received  from  him  an  un- 
naturally violent  impetus  to  sin.  In  any  case,  some 
men  are  more  tempted  in  that  way  than  others. 
I've  known  a  few  men  as  badly  tempted  as  myself, 
others  only  shghtly  tempted,  and  some  surprised 
that  a  man  should  feel  any  temptation  at  all  in  that 
direction.     But  in  my  case  it  was  something  so 


MASTER    AND    MAN  165 

frightful  that  I  simply  cannot  describe  it  to  you. 
Why  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  sudden  passion,  "  the 
streets  were  Hke  a  burning  fiery  furnace  to  me  ! 
The  sight  of  it  aU  !  The  openness,  the  ease,  the 
glamour.  .  .  .  Well,  all  I  can  hope  is  that  no  other 
young  man  may  ever  suffer  as  I  did  in  those  days. 
I  thought  I  should  go  mad  !  " 

The  sense  of  danger  became  so  overwhelming  that 
he  looked  to  right  and  left  of  him  for  a  way  of 
escape.  He  had  tried  everything  he  knew  to 
counteract  the  tendency  in  his  blood,  but  it  was 
in  vain.  After  all  his  laborious  inventions  to  free 
himself,  he  felt  the  driving  force  of  this  terrific 
temptation  pressing  him  out  of  purity  and  into 
shame.  He  was  on  the  very  verge  of  the  great 
fall. 

One  day  it  occurred  to  him  that  religion  was  the 
cure  for  his  ill.  He  began  to  read  the  Bible,  began  to 
pray,  began  to  talk  about  rehgion  with  one  or  two 
men  in  the  warehouse  who  went  to  church.  The 
temptation  remained. 

He  was  almost  in  despair,  felt  himself  on  the 
point  of  yielding,  when  an  address  deHvered  at 
the  Association's  premises  dragged  him  clear  of  the 
danger.  It  was  not  an  address  about  fighting 
against  temptations,  nothing  in  the  nature  of  a  local 
suggestion,  but  was  the  whole  and  total  life  of 
Christianity,  the  Hfe  itself. 

"  I  shaU  never  forget  as  long  as  I  live,"  he  told 
me,  "  the  awakening,  the  revelation,  the  sensation 
of  seeing  everything  clear  at  last,  which  seemed  to 
hght  up  my  whole  soul  for  me.  It  was  as  if  a  fog 
had  rolled  away,  all  of  a  sudden.    I  saw  everything 


166  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

about  me,  not  only  clear,  but  shining.  And  this  was 
what  the  man  said — only  in  better  language  than  I 
can  tell  you,  although,  mind  you,  it  was  quite 
simple  and  plain,  no  fireworks,  nothing  of  that 
kind,  just  common-sense  words.  He  said  that 
Christianity  was  a  life  of  service  ;  that  a  man  might 
read  the  Bible  and  pray  and  attend  church  and  meet- 
ings, and  3^et  not  be  a  Christian  at  all.  Unless,  said 
he,  a  man  is  working  for  others,  helping  others  to  be 
good,  doing  all  that  he  possibly  can  to  stop  evil 
and  propagate  good,  he  is  not  a  true  Christian. 
It  struck  me  hke  a  whip.  I  seemed  to  jump  up. 
'  "What !  '  I  said  to  myself  ;  '  here  have  I  been 
calling  myself  a  Christian  all  these  months,  and 
reaUy  and  truly  I'm  not  a  Christian  at  aU  !  And, 
of  course,  I'm  not.  I'm  selfish.  I've  been  thinking 
about  my  own  soul,  about  my  own  temptations. 
Why  !  I've  never  hfted  a  single  finger  in  my  hfe 
to  help  man,  woman,  or  child.'  I  saw  it  as  clear  as 
light.  All  my  difiiculty  had  come  from  brooding  on 
m^^self.  And  to  get  clear  I  had  to  be  a  Christian. 
And  to  be  a  Christian  I  had  to  be  converted.  It 
seemed  to  me  then  that  conversion  was  something 
more  than  a  word ;  that  it  was  a  tremendous 
change  of  a  man's  whole  hfe.  I  could  see  what  it 
meant.  It  meant  a  right-about-face  ;  yes,  and  a 
turning  inside  out  of  everything  that  had  before 
seemed  natural  and  obvious  and  common-sense. 
I  looked  at  the  thing,  saw  it  quite  clearly,  and  knew 
how  to  get  it.  But  for  a  moment  or  two  I  hung 
back,  as  if  I  was  afraid  to  trust  myself  to  it.  It  was 
so  big,  and  I  was  so  small.  The  world  was  so 
enormous,  and  this  thing  was  clean  contrary  to  the 


MASTER   AND   MAN  167 

world.  However,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  surrender. 
That  is  the  true  word.  It's  a  surrender  of  doubts, 
and  difficulties,  and  fears,  and  nervousness,  and 
misgivings.  It's  a  surrender  of  argument  and 
seeking  and  looking  about.  It's  a  surrender  of  self. 
I  stood  up  in  the  meeting  and  declared  for  God. 
Something  happened  to  me.  I  can't  describe  it. 
Something  happened — as  if  a  storm  had  stopped. 

"  I  went  back  that  night  determmed  that  no 
single  day  should  ever  go  over  my  head  without 
some  act  of  service  towards  my  fellow-man,  done 
for  the  sake  and  in  the  Name  of  my  Saviour.  I 
started  to  pray  night  and  morning  in  the  dormitory. 
I  arranged  a  Bible-readuig  class  once  a  week.  I 
went  among  the  packers  and  carters  and  got  them 
to  join  our  circle.  Of  course  I  had  to  stand  a  lot 
of  chaff.  I  was  frightfully  chipped  !  But  I'm  a  bit 
of  a  funny  chap  myself,  and  I  could  see  how  it  must 
strike  others  at  first,  and  I  took  it  all  in  good  part. 
There  was  a  looking-glass  in  the  room  where  we  had 
our  diimer,  and  I  used  to  paste  up  a  great  big  notice 
on  it,  once  a  week,  giving  the  subject  of  the  next 
address,  generally  a  text.  The  other  men  used  to 
laugh  at  it  and  make  jokes  about  it,  but  I  generally 
got  the  better  of  them  on  that  score.  Of  course 
there's  a  danger  in  exhibiting  texts — by  the  by,  I 
must  teU  you  a  story  about  that — but  I'm  perfectly 
certain  it  makes  many  a  man  think  about  religion. 
I'm  sure  those  texts  on  the  looking-glass  in  our 
dining-room  began  the  work  of  conversion  in  the 
hearts  of  many  men. 

"  This  is  the  story.  I  was  once  sending  out 
placards  announcing  a  religious  address  at  Exeter 


168  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

Hall.  The  text  was  a  very  solemn  one.  I  wanted 
sandwich-board  men  to  parade  Regent  Street  and 
Oxford  Street  with  these  notices,  but  was  anxious 
about  getting  the  right  kind  of  men  for  such  a  job. 
So  I  went  to  the  local  agency  of  the  Salvation  Army, 
said  I  wanted  to  hire  so  many  sandwich-men,  and 
then  added,  '  But  I  don't  want  drunken-looking 
feUows  to  parade  the  streets  with  that  text  on  their 
backs,  nor  to  see  the  boards  left  outside  a  pubhc- 
house  ;  you  must  give  me  decent  men.'  '  Well,'  said 
the  officer,  considering,  '  I  could  give  you  ordinary 
men  at  two  shillings,  but  I  couldn't  guarantee  a 
soundly  converted  man  under  three  and  sixpence.' 
Isn't  that  good  ?  I  couldn't  help  laughing !  The 
price  of  a  converted  man — three-and-six  !  " 

I  asked  him  if  his  temptations  vanished  at  the 
moment  of  conversion. 

"  They  left  me  for  a  time,"  he  said,  "  but  they 
came  back — only  without  anjrthing  like  the  same 
strength  ;  it  was  quite  easy  for  me  to  subdue  them. 
There  was  no  fever  in  the  brain,  no  feeling  that  I 
should  go  mad.  Nothing  of  that.  I  was  never 
tortured  again,  not  once." 

He  had  been  three  years  in  the  warehouse  when 
an  opportunity  came  to  improve  his  fortunes. 
He  was  offered  the  position  of  clerk  in  a  merchant's 
office,  a  quite  different  business  from  that  in  which 
he  had  been  engaged,  but,  as  he  told  me  with  a 
proud  smile,  "  There  isn't  much  a  man  can't 
do  who  has  been  three  years  in  a  City  of  London 
warehouse."  The  pay,  of  course,  was  better, 
the  hours  were  a  trifle  lighter,  and  there  was  no 
living-in.    AU  these  things  were  desirable,  but  what 


MASTER    AND    MAN  169 

most  commended  the  change  to  him  was  the 
character  of  this  new  master.  He  was  "  a  godly 
man." 

This  gentleman  was  married,  and  lived  with  his 
wife  in  Wimbledon.  The  business  was  a  com- 
fortable one.  It  not  only  provided  a  good  profit,  but 
allowed  the  master  plenty  of  leisure  for  less  material 
pursuits.  He  took  the  chair  at  reUgious  meetings, 
gave  addresses,  made  prayers,  and  served  on  com- 
mittees of  religious  societies.  He  came  from  the 
North  of  England,  and  had  that  grip  and  practical 
hard-headed  common  sense  which  makes  men  of 
affairs  so  extremely  useful  in  the  machinery  of 
religion.  Moreover,  he  was  a  comparatively  rich 
man,  and  subscribed  liberally  to  the  funds  of 
religious  activity. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  promising  for  our 
young  man.  He  went  to  this  new  life  with  a  feeling 
that  Heaven  had  rewarded  him  far  beyond  his 
hopes.  Everything  had  come  to  his  hand.  He 
was  a  free  man,  able  to  Uve  where  he  wished, 
employed  by  a  rich  master  who  would  not  only 
admire  his  enthusiasms  but  share  them,  and  in  his 
ampler  spare  time  he  would  have  the  work  of  the 
Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  the  friendships 
and  social  intercourse  of  that  society,  to  keep  him 
happy  and  active. 

But  it  was  not  quite  what  he  expected,  after 
all.  The  master  was  hard,  sometimes  exacting, 
and  very  often  lacking  in  even  an  elementary 
sympathy.  Further,  his  religious  activity  took  him 
out  of  office  so  frequently,  and  for  such  long  spells, 
that  the  clerk  often  had  to  work  late  in  the  evening 


170  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

to  make  up  for  time  thus  lost  in  the  day.  He  could 
have  supported  this  hardship  but  for  the  master's 
roughness,  which  was  sometimes  cruel  and  un- 
bearable. 

In  appearance  the  master  was  something  of  a 
giant,  a  man  with  a  shock  of  stubborn  hair,  a 
bristling  beard,  eyes  that  flashed  with  energy  and 
vehemence,  a  massive  forehead  that  was  hke  a  wall. 
He  was  an  able  merchant,  a  powerful  character,  a 
masterful  soul.  There  was  something  fine  and 
strong  in  his  rugged  appearance  which  suggested 
the  strength  and  force  of  a  rigorous  spirit. 

"  You  will  hardly  beHeve  what  I  am  going  to  teU 
you,"  said  the  man,  "  but  it  is  true,  and  worse, 
infinitely  worse,  is  to  follow.  For  six  years  I  never 
had  more  than  a  week's  holiday.  He  worked  me 
like  a  slave,  and  he  treated  me  like  a  dog.  Not  at 
first,  but  even  from  the  first  he  was  coarse  and  brutal, 
as  unhke  a  Christian  as  anything  you  can  imagine. 
It  came  gradually,  not  until  I  was  master  of  his 
secret,  had  the  business,  practically  speaking, 
entirely  in  my  own  hands,  and  was  tied  to  him,  as 
weU  he  knew,  by  loyalty  and  my  sense  of  Christian 
duty.  Then  he  let  himself  go,  and  fairly  trampled 
on  me.  Outside  he  was  everything  noble,  good,  and 
unselfish  ;  in  the  office  he  was  like  a  devil. 

"  And  now  I  must  teU  you  his  secret.  He  would 
very  often  be  absent  for  days,  weeks,  and  at  last 
even  for  months.  Sometimes  he  would  tell  me  he 
was  going  away  ;  but  often  it  was  only  by  telegram 
a  day  or  two  later  that  I  learned  he  would  not  be 
back  for  some  time.  I  had  no  suspicion  at  first,  and 
none  of  the  junior  clerks  knew  anything  about  the 


MASTER    AND    MAN  171 

matter.  It  was  not  until  I  noticed  certain  un- 
accountable items  in  his  bank-account — for  I 
had  now  full  control  of  everything — that  I  began  to 
have  an  inkling  of  the  truth.  Many  of  these  strange 
cheques  were  for  large  sums,  and  some  of  them 
were  made  payable  to  second-rate  hotels  in  London. 

"  One  day  it  came  out.  He  sent  for  me  by  tele- 
gram to  one  of  these  hotels.  Certain  contracts  had 
to  be  signed,  and  I  had  written  to  his  private  address, 
pointing  out  the  extreme  importance  of  not  missing 
the  date.  The  answer  to  my  letter  was  the  telegram, 
which  told  me  to  bring  the  papers  to  the  hotel. 

"  I  shall  not  easily  forget  what  I  saw.  He  was 
drunk  ! — as  drunk  as  a  practised  drunkard  ever 
can  be  drunk.  There  he  sat,  this  godly  man,  alone 
in  a  httle  dark  room,  his  face  the  colour  of  violet, 
his  eyes  fro^vning  and  half  shut,  his  hair  ruffled,  his 
clothes  dirty — the  living  picture  of  a  sot !  So 
amazed  was  I,  so  horrified,  that  I  could  neither 
plead  nor  reproach.  I  put  the  papers  before  him, 
got  pen  and  ink,  showed  him  where  he  was  to  sign, 
and  went  away  as  quickly  as  I  could. 

"  That  was  the  biggest  shock  I  ever  had  in  my 
life.  As  I  walked  away,  away  through  the  crowded 
streets  of  London,  I  was  like  a  man  who  has  been 
stunned.  I  couldn't  see  anything  clearly.  The 
noise  of  the  traffic  and  the  sound  of  voices  were 
muffled  and  dull.  Everything  seemed  unreal.  And 
I  was  thinking,  as  I  walked  along,  that  perhaps 
religion  was  unreal  too  ! 

*'  I  was  a  young  man,  and  perhaps  rather 
emotional.  But  think  of  it !  This  employer  of  mine 
was  a  leader  of  rehgion.    He  was  one  of  the  great 


172  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

fighters  for  righteousness,  one  of  the  captains  in 
Christ's  army.  Yes,  and  he  made  sacrifices  for 
rehgion.  He  gave  his  time,  his  talents,  and  his 
money.  He  was  no  hypocrite  using  rehgion  for 
business  purposes.  Rehgion  did  not  affect  his 
business  at  all.  No  ;  he  was  perfectly  genuine,  and 
the  work  he  gave  to  religion  entailed  a  very  con- 
siderable sacrifice.  I  knew  that  well,  and  I  saw 
it  quite  clearly.  But,  all  the  same,  I  had  seen  this 
godly  man  in  a  Httle  dark  room  of  a  httle  shabby 
hotel  in  a  back  street,  drunk  and  horrible  !  I  tell 
you  that  was  a  frightful  shock. 

"  It  seemed  to  me,  thinking  it  over,  that  rehgion 
was  not  the  power  I  had  imagined  it  to  be.  I  almost 
came  to  think  that  I  had  deceived  myself  in  my  own 
conversion.  I  thought  to  myself  that  if  rehgion 
had  no  power  to  prevent  my  master  from  sinking 
to  such  depths  it  could  not  be  so  great  and  saving  a 
power  as  I  had  imagined.  For  you  must  see  that 
this  man's  religion  was  not  merely  one  of  profession, 
but  one  of  active  work  and  sincere  service.  It  was  a 
hfe.    And  yet  I  had  seen  what  I  had  seen  ! 

"  For  a  long  time  I  was  dreadfully  miserable. 
My  faith  was  not  extinguished,  but  it  was  echpsed. 
What  would  have  become  of  me  but  for  the  Associa- 
tion, I  do  not  hke  to  think.  It  was  the  pure  atmo- 
sphere of  that  place,  the  affectionate  friendships, 
the  interest  and  encouragement  of  the  work,  which 
carried  me  through  those  dark  days  and  at  last 
brought  me  to  the  hght.  I  cannot  overestimate  the 
value  of  the  Association  to  my  spiritual  hfe  at  that 
period.  It  helped  me.  It  encouraged  me.  It 
gave  me  hope.    At  last  I  saw  the  truth,    I  saw 


MASTER    AND    MAN  173 

that  while  service  is  the  soul  of  the  religious  life, 
the  foundation  is  faith.  I  saw  what  I  had  never 
sharply  seen  before,  and  never  properly  understood, 
that  a  man  may  give  his  life  to  God's  service  and  yet 
be  far  from  the  Kingdom  of  Grod." 

Our  London  clerk,  one  sees,  had  arrived  at  that 
point  where  the  mystery  of  faith  seizes  upon  the  soul 
and  illumines  the  whole  field  of  appearance  with 
spiritual  light,  at  that  point  where  Maeterlinck 
stood  when  he  said  : 

"  We  may  possibly  be  neither  good,  nor  noble, 
nor  beautiful,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  greatest 
sacrifice  ;  and  the  sister  of  charity  who  dies 
by  the  bedside  of  a  typhoid  patient  may  perchance 
have  a  mean,  rancorous,  miserable  soul." 

In  other,  older,  diviner,  and  more  eternal  words, 
"  Lord,  Lord,  have  we  not  prophesied  in  Thy  Name, 
and  in  Thy  Name  have  cast  out  devils,  and  in  Thy 
Name  done  many  wonderful  works  ?  Then  will  I  'pro- 
fess unto  them,  I  never  knew  you,^^ 

Philanthropy  pales  before  those  words. 

But  for  the  Hfe  he  hved  in  the  work  of  the  Associa- 
tion, our  clerk  would  never  have  come  to  realise 
the  essential  consecration  of  faith.  He  might  have 
kept  to  the  narrow  path,  he  might  have  overcome 
the  temptation  to  think  that  religion  was  a  psy- 
chological illusion,  but  he  could  hardly  have  come 
to  deepen  and  transform  his  whole  spiritual  life 
by  and  through  the  very  cause  which  threatened  at 
first  to  overwhelm  him. 

He  told  me  that  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  fundamental 
essentiality  of  faith  he  set  himself  to  live  in  that 


174  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

dependence  on  spiritual  power,  that  utter  trust  in 
the  Person  of  Christ  which  is  the  only  tranquillity 
of  soul  a  man  may  know  on  earth. 

And  aU  that  he  went  through  never  once  weakened 
his  spiritual  Mfe  or  disturbed  its  serenity. 

The  master  would  sometimes  send  for  him  in  the 
midst  of  a  drinking  bout,  and  the  clerk  would  plead 
with  him  and  get  him  to  go  home.  On  many 
occasions  the  man  himself  took  the  master  home 
and  supported  him  into  the  house. 

"  It  was  terrible,  those  home-comings,"  he  told 
me.  "  There  would  be  the  wife,  standing  in  the 
haU,  white  as  a  ghost,  horribly  ashamed,  and  yet 
so  proud  that  she  regarded  me  with  hatred  for  being 
the  spectator  of  her  tragedy.  The  master  would 
chng  to  me,  insist  that  I  should  go  with  him  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  make  me  play  to  him.  There 
we  would  sit — he  collapsed  in  an  arm-chair,  I  at  the 
piano,  and  the  taU,  white-haired  wife,  silent  and 
upright,  on  a  straight-backed  chair  between  us. 
'  Play  something  !  '  he  would  command  ;  *  you 
know  how  to  fiddle  about  with  those  notes  ;  play 
something.'  *  What  shall  I  play  ?  '  I  asked  him  on 
the  first  occasion.  What  do  you  think  he  said  ? 
He  said  to  me,  '  Play  Just  as  I  am,  without  one 
plea.'*  And  I  played  him  that  hymn.  Over  and 
over  again  when  I  took  him  home  he  made  me 
play  him  such  hymns  as  that. 

"  He  would  come  back  to  the  office  after  one  of 
these  debauches,  and,  sitting  in  his  chair,  I  standing 
before  him,  he  would  measure  me  with  his  eyes 
contemplatively,  and  say,  *  None  of  you  feUows  in 
the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  know  how  to 


MASTER    AND    MAN  175 

deal  with  a  penitent  sinner — not  one  of  you.  You 
don't  understand  anything  about  it.'  And  some- 
times he  would  say  to  me — for  by  this  time  we  used 
to  taUi  quite  freely  on  the  subject — *  Do  you  know 
why  I  faU  ?  It  is  because  the  whole  engine  of 
Satan's  power  is  directed  against  me.  And  do  you 
know  why  the  whole  engine  of  Satan's  power 
is  directed  against  me  ?  It  is  because  he  knows 
I  am  in  the  forefront  of  the  battle  for  Christ.  Satan 
knows,  you  may  depend  on  it,  who  to  go  for.  No 
man  could  stand  against  such  power.'  And  when 
he  said  this,  I  beheve  he  was  sincere.  I  beheve 
his  soul  was  in  such  a  frightful  state  that  he  could 
make  himself  believe  any  single  thing  that  flattered 
his  spiritual  pride  or  saved  it  from  destruction. 

"  But  wouldn't  you  have  thought  that  my 
knowledge  of  his  secret  sin,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
way  in  which  I  helped  him  and  controDed  his  whole 
business,  would  have  led  him  to  show  me  ex- 
ceptional indulgence  ?  On  the  contrary,  his  tyranny 
became  worse  with  every  day  of  our  intimacy. 
Really,  his  is  the  most  extraordinary  character 
I  have  ever  known.  The  worse  his  bout,  the  more 
censorious  his  treatment  of  me.  He  used  to  come 
back  to  the  office  in  a  flaming  state  of  bitterness, 
and  speak  to  me  as  if  /  had  been  the  cause  of  his 
debauch.  Let  me  give  you  a  couple  of  instances 
of  what  I  mean. 

"  My  mother  was  Hving  with  me  in  lodgings  in  the 
suburbs.  She  had  been  very  iU,  and  now  it  was 
apparent  that  she  must  die.  I  was  tenderly  attached 
to  her,  and  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  her  dying 
alone    in   those    dreary   lodgings.      Moreover,    her 


176  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

disease  was  terrible.  She  was  dying  in  the  greatest 
pain. 

"  Well,  I  used  to  take  every  opportunity  I  could 
to  run  down  and  see  her  during  the  day,  if  only  for 
a  few  mmutes.  I  spent  my  dinner-time  in  this  way, 
and  as  the  end  came  nearer  I  would  sometimes  go 
and  see  her  in  the  afternoon.  Occasionally  I  arrived 
late  at  the  office,  occasionally — if  it  were  possible — 
I  went  away  before  my  usual  time.  I  confess  I 
was  irregular  in  my  attendance.  Remember,  I  had 
only  had  six  weeks'  hoHdays  for  six  whole  years. 
At  last  the  end  came.  My  mother  was  dead.  I  went 
to  my  master,  told  him,  and  asked  for  a  day's  leave, 
for  the  funeral.  Now,  what  do  you  think  that  man 
said  to  me  ?  He  looked  me  full  and  accusing  in  the 
face,  as  if  I  had  committed  a  crime,  and  said,  '  May 
I  ask  if  this  is  to  be  the  last  of  these  irregularities  ?  ' 
Hitherto  I  had  always  restrained  myself,  I  had 
always  tried  to  be  a  true  Christian,  but  then  my 
blood  boiled  with  indignation.  However,  I  got  a 
grip  of  myseK,  and  only  said  to  him,  '  I  beheve,  sir, 
that  after  death  there  is  nothing  left  except  the 
burying.'  And  it  was  long  before  I  could  reaUy 
forgive  him. 

"  The  other  instance  is  not  quite  so  bad.  Thirteen 
or  fourteen  months  after  my  mother's  death,  I 
was  making  arrangements  to  get  married.  I  asked 
for  a  week's  hohday  for  the  honeymoon.  *  Is  it 
really  necessary  for  you  to  get  married  ?  '  he 
demanded.  Think  of  that !  Then  he  went  on  to  say 
that  it  was  most  inconvenient  for  him  to  let  me  go 
at  that  time,  that  certainly  a  week  was  quite  out  of 
the  question,  and  that  if  the  marriage  really  must 


MASTER    AND    MAN  177 

take  place,  could  I  not  manage  to  do  with  just  the 
single  day  ?  I  was  so  bitter  that  I  said  to  him, 
'  So  far  as  that  goes,  sir,  a  whole  day  is  not  necessary  ; 
I  beHeve  the  rehgious  ceremony  only  takes  an  hour. 
Perhaps  you  would  kindly  grant  me  an  hour, 
and  I  would  come  back  immediately  afterwards.' 
And  that  was  what  actually  happened.  I  went 
from  the  office  to  the  church,  got  married,  and  was 
at  my  desk  again  in  an  hour's  time. 

"  Some  months  afterwards — things  going  from 
bad  to  worse  in  the  office — my  master  sent  for 
me  one  day  and  had  a  long  talk  about  the  state  of 
the  business.  I  knew  how  critical  things  were,  and 
spoke  my  mind  with  unusual  frankness.  I  told  him 
plainly  that  no  business  could  stand  against  these 
continual  absences  of  the  head.  I  also  mentioned 
the  matter  of  cheques  drawn  on  the  business  for  £30 
in  one  week — cheques  for  drink  and  lodging.  He 
said  to  me,  '  You  don't  understand  these  matters. 
I  am  marked  down  by  Satan.  The  power  of  evil 
swoops  down  upon  me,  and  carries  me  away  before 
I  know  where  I  am.  I  can't  stand  against  it, 
because  I  never  know  when  it  is  coming.  It  springs 
upon  me,  and  I  know  nothing  more  till  the  fit  has 
passed.'  This  may  have  been  true  in  the  past, 
true  when  I  first  came  to  the  business  ;  but  it  was 
true  no  longer.  For  I  myself  could  now  tell  when 
these  fits  would  seize  him.  He  used  to  make  all 
his  plans  for  them — a  day  or  two  beforehand.  Yes, 
on  days  when  he  was  quite  rational,  when  he  was 
taking  the  chair  at  religious  meetings  or  conducting 
prayer  meetings,  he  would  come  to  the  office, 
inquire  as  to  contracts  for  the  next  two  or  three 

N 


178  THE   ORDINARY  IVIAN 

weeks,  draw  sufficient  cheques  for  the  wages  over 
that  period,  give  me  the  same  instructions  a  man 
would  leave  behind  him  on  starting  for  a  hoUday, 
and  then  disappear  into  the  back  streets  of  London, 
and  remain  drunk  for  twenty  days. 

"  I  grew  more  and  more  anxious  about  this  state 
of  things.  My  master  had  begun  to  speculate. 
One  or  two  of  these  speculations  were  of  the  wildest 
possible  character.  You  can  imagine  my  anxiety, 
for  I  was  soon  to  become  a  father,  and  the  future 
looked  black  indeed.  One  day  my  master  consulted 
with  me.  '  I  want  you,'  he  said,  '  to  take  a  week's 
holiday  ;  you  deserve  it ;  you've  worked  hard  ; 
you  had  better  go  to  the  sea  and  get  fit ;  after  that 
we  must  see  what  can  be  done  about  the  business.' 
Then  he  said  to  me,  '  We  want  capital ;  I  suppose 
you  haven't  got  three  or  four  hundred  pounds  ? — ^you 
couldn't  put  your  hands  on  such  a  sum,  could  you  ?  ' 
I  almost  laughed  at  the  idea.  I  told  him  I  had  not 
even  got  enough  money  to  go  away  with  to  the 
coast,  but  should  spend  my  hohday  at  home.  He 
nodded,  looked  reheved,  which  surprised  me,  and 
took  a  casual  farewell  of  me.  This  was  on 
Thursday. 

"  On  Saturday  I  received  a  letter  from  him,  dis- 
missing me  !  He  told  me  to  send  back  the  duplicate 
keys  I  possessed  of  the  office  and  the  safe,  and 
expressed  the  hope  that  I  should  not  be  long  in 
finding  a  fresh  situation.  In  other  words,  he  simply 
flung  me  out  on  the  street.  I  had  a  week-end,  I  can 
tell  you  !  There  was  I,  soon  to  become  a  father, 
with  only  a  few  shillings  in  the  family  stocking, 
flung  out  on  the  streets  to  starve,  yes,  and  by  a  man 


MASTER    AND    MAN  179 

I  had  served  faithfully  for  eight  years  !  I  told  my 
wife,  and  she  took  it  splendidly,  sure  that  we 
should  be  helped.  We  did  what  all  people  do  when 
they  are  made  to  realise  their  utter  helplessness. 
We  simply  poured  out  our  souls  to  God.  On  the 
Sunday  afternoon  I  took  my  class  as  usual,  and  got 
through  it  somehow  or  another,  but  not,  I  am  afraid, 
with  much  energy  of  will.  The  fear  of  the  future 
weighed  me  down.  My  face  must  have  shown  the 
mental  strain.  One  of  my  associates  came  to  me 
after  the  school  was  over,  and  asked  if  I  was  in 
trouble.  I  told  him  the  whole  story.  He  was  a  poor 
man,  just  one  of  those  simple  and  humble  Christians 
who  work  hard  all  the  week  and  give  their  Sundays 
in  obscure  service  to  God.  But  what  do  you  think 
he  said  to  me  ?  He  said :  *  Trust  yourself  entirely  to 
God  ;  He  will  never  desert  you  ;  this  trial  of  your 
faith  will  prove  ultimately  a  blessing  ;  and  in  the 
meantime  I  can  let  you  have  twenty  pounds  for 
present  needs.'  At  first  I  was  only  touched, 
touched  to  the  heart,  by  this  splendid  sympathy. 
Then  I  saw  how  real  and  noble  a  thing  religion  is, 
for  this  man  was  poor  and  had  a  struggle  to  Hve. 
Finally  I  saw  that  it  was  an  answer  to  prayer. 

"  Everything  from  that  moment  prospered  with 
me.  It  is  too  long  a  story  to  tell,  but  you  may  Hke 
to  know  that  I  started  in  business  for  myself,  that 
another  man  employed  by  my  former  master  joined 
me  later  on,  and  that  we  are  now  busy  from  morning 
till  night.  One  thing  I  must  tell  you,  the  last  thing 
concerning  my  old  master.  When  he  asked  if  I  had 
three  or  four  hundred  pounds,  or  could  put  my  hands 
on  such  a  sum,  he  was  only  trying  to  find  out  if  1 


180  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

could  start  in  business  for  myself.  He  knew  he 
was  going  to  dismiss  me.  He  knew  that  such  a  sum 
could  not  have  saved  him  from  ruin.  The  look 
of  rehef  in  his  face,  which  had  surprised  me  at 
the  time,  meant  that  he  was  not  afraid  of  losing 
his  customers  in  turning  me  out  at  a  moment's 
notice.    He  thought  I  should  sink. 

"  I  often  think  about  him.  He  has  no  power  now 
to  darken  my  faith,  and  I  think  I  may  say  with 
perfect  honesty  that  I  bear  him  no  iU-wiU.  I  hope, 
too,  that  I  never  judge  him.  But  I  am  interested  in 
him  as  a  man,  and  curious  about  him  as  a  Christian. 
You  see,  it  wouldn't  be  true  to  say  he  is  a  hypocrite. 
He  has  nothing  whatever  to  get  out  of  rehgion. 
He  might  be  an  atheist  without  injuring  his  business. 
But  there  he  is,  a  saint  in  church  and  a  drunkard  in 
secret.  In  pubHc  hfe  he  is  a  hberal  and  virtuous 
man,  in  private  a  tyrant.  What  can  you  make  of 
such  a  man  ?  It  is  one  of  the  most  baffling  cases  I 
ever  came  across. 

"  There  is  something  I  should  hke  to  say  to  you 
about  the  Association.  In  my  early  days,  alone  in 
London,  and  at  a  time  when  I  was  frightfully 
tempted  to  go  wrong,  it  provided  me  with  the  right 
companionships,  and  led  me  to  a  Hfe  of  service, 
which  is  the  only  safe  way  and  the  only  true  way 
for  a  young  man  to  go.  And  mixing  with  rehgious 
men  of  various  creeds  and  various  ages  teaches  one 
tact.  I  remember  once  going  into  a  Lockhart's 
coffee-shop  in  the  Seven  Dials,  where  I  used  to  do 
mission  work.  An  old  man  was  seated  there, 
ragged,  wretched,  and  depressed.  In  front  of  him 
was  a  piece  of  bread  and  a  mug  of  cocoa,  at  which 


MASTER    AND    MAN  181 

he  looked  lugubriously.  I  felt  pity  for  the  poor  old 
chap,  and  said  to  him,  '  Dad,  let  me  give  you  a 
sausage  to  eat  with  that  bread.'  He  looked  up  at 
me  and  said,  '  Thanks,  I've  ordered  a  beefsteak.' 
That  was  a  lesson  for  me  !  And  it's  the  same  in 
rehgion.  The  man  to  whom  we  go  with  our  par- 
ticular meat  has  often  got  better  himself.  Tact 
is  most  essential  in  missionary  work.  The  Associa- 
tion teaches  that. 

"  But  it  did  something  more  for  me,  something 
far  greater.  As  it  had  saved  my  feet  from  sin,  so 
it  opened  my  eyes  to  God.  In  the  moment  when 
everything  seemed  false,  and  when  my  inexperienced 
mind  was  staggered  by  what  I  took  to  be  my 
master's  hypocrisy,  the  Association  taught  me, 
by  the  Hves  of  its  members,  the  self-sacrificing  and 
noble  lives  of  its  members,  that  faith  is  something 
real  and  magnificent.  Why  I  lay  stress  on  this  point 
you  can  probably  guess.  Some  people  think  that 
any  society  formed  Uke  the  Association,  but  for 
social  purposes  alone,  would  be  just  as  useful  to  the 
young  men  of  London.  That  is  illusion.  It  must 
have  the  religious  basis.  If  I  had  only  gone  to  the 
Association  for  billiards  or  chess,  or  for  Uterary  and 
political  debates,  I  should  never  have  witnessed 
with  my  living  eyes  the  beauty  of  faith. 

"  Men  commit  a  great  mistake  when  they  take  a 
lighthouse  for  a  haven.  Think  of  a  ship  making 
straight  for  the  Eddy  stone  !  The  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  is  not  a  harbour.  It  is  a  light- 
house, and  a  very  splendid  hghthouse,  set  up  in  the 
midst  of  Life's  dangerous  seas  ;  but  not  the  haven 
where  there  is  security  and  calm  water.     It  may 


182  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

save  hundreds  of  men  from  dashing  their  hves  to 
pieces  on  the  rocks,  but  it  will  never  bring  peace  to 
their  souls  unless  they  see  that  it  lights  the  way 
to  the  harbour,  which  is  Christ  Himself." 

Does  the  master,  with  his  double  Hfe,  remain  a 
mystery  ? 

Think  well  before  you  answer.  Happy  are  you  in 
some  ways  if  you  can  pronounce  him,  after  reflection 
and  after  very  honest  self-examination,  a  monster, 
an  ogre,  and  a  most  odious  hjrpocrite  ;  for  such  a 
judgment  would  declare  you  not  only  ignorant 
of  human  Hfe,  particularly  of  human  life  in  great 
cities,  but  innocent  of  secret  sins  in  your  own 
existence.  A  close  observer,  and  one  acquainted 
with  psychology,  will  perhaps  pronounce  a  more 
indulgent  judgment.  The  saddest  women  in  London 
have  strange  tales  to  tell  of  those  who  seek  them 
in  the  shadows.  The  stockbroker  and  banker  are 
very  often  cynical  with  good  reason  about  religious 
people.  The  doctor  in  his  consulting-room  comes 
to  beheve  that  the  double  hfe  is  not  an  exception 
but  the  actual  rule.  And  most  men,  I  think,  most 
men  who  are  tremendously  honest  with  themselves, 
know  of  secret  doors  in  their  souls  which  they 
themselves  keep  rigidly  closed  even  against  those 
nearest  and  dearest  to  them. 

But  the  psychological  interest  of  this  story, 
profoundly  reflected  on,  has  the  most  saving 
illumination  for  the  soul.  It  shows  how  great  a  gulf 
separates  the  man  who  is  absolutely  converted 
from  the  man  who  is  simply  struggling  to  be  good. 
One  knows  for  certain  that  this  particular  master, 


MASTER    AND    MAN  183 

in  spite  of  his  prayers  and  subscriptions,  had  never 
taken  the  great  Decision  which  transforms  char- 
acter and  literally  saves  the  soul.  You  may  hate 
the  word  conversion,  you  may  regard  all  talk 
about  a  man  being  saved  as  so  much  odious  cant, 
but  you  must  confess  that  until  that  extraordinary 
thing  called  conversion  happens  in  the  hfe  of  an 
ordinary  man  he  is  exposed  to  danger,  and  may 
become  as  evil  as  the  very  worst  of  his  fellow- 
creatures. 


CHAPTER  X 
AN   ORIGINAL   CHARACTER 

THERE  must  be,  of  course,  among  the  London 
members  of  such  a  body  as  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  a  certain  sameness  of  experi- 
ence, a  certain  identity  in  character,  a  certain  re- 
semblance in  manner  and  opinion  ;  one  does  not 
easily  discover  in  the  ordinary  man  of  sophisticated 
society,  who  has  given  himself  early  in  Hfe  to  the 
discipline  of  religion,  that  obvious  and  impressive 
emphasis  of  individuality,  that  clear,  definite,  and 
rough-hewn  sense  of  reality,  which  strike  one  in  the 
broken  earthenware  of  humbler  classes. 

I  was  speaking  on  this  matter  one  evening  to  a 
member  of  the  Association  who  possesses  in  a  rather 
remarkable  degree  the  spirit  of  sympathy  and  the 
gift  of  humour.  "  Would  you  Hke,"  he  asked  me, 
"  to  see  a  real  character,  a  real  original  ?  "  The 
twinkle  in  his  eyes  and  the  laughter  in  his  voice 
promised  something  worth  a  journey.  It  was  seven 
o'clock ;  I  had  eaten  nothing  since  one ;  the 
afternoon  had  been  spent  in  Hoxton  Market  among 
the  most  tragic  and  distressing  sights  in  London, 
I  was  rather  tired  ;  nevertheless,  such  assurance 
was  in  the  invitation  that  I  accepted  it  with  alacrity. 
We  set  off  then  and  there,  and  made  our  way  to 

ld4 


AN  ORIGINAL  CHARACTER  185 

the  murky  streets  which  surround  Old  Drury. 
It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  before  I  got  back  to 
my  hotel. 

In  a  dark  and  quiet  street  my  guide  paused  before 
the  one  bright  window  in  a  row  of  gloomy  houses. 
It  was  a  theatrical  laundry.  The  big  uncurtained 
window  threw  a  haze  of  yellow  light  upon  the  damp 
street.  Women  were  busily  employed  there,  wash- 
ing, wringing,  ironing,  and  hanging  to  ropes  sus- 
pended across  the  room  the  festive  garments  of 
theatrical  ladies.  Instead  of  the  perfume  of  pat- 
chouli, a  healthy  smeU  of  honest  yeUow  soap, 
mingled  with  the  damp  and  stifling  atmosphere  of 
steam,  came  from  these  garish  garments,  which 
hung  Mke  strangled  ghosts  in  the  moist  air.  No 
sound  of  singing  or  talking  issued  from  this  bright 
interior.  The  laundresses  in  their  neat  print  dresses, 
sleeves  rolled  to  the  elbow,  worked  under  the  gas- 
jets  in  a  hurrying  silence.  A  couple  of  dreary 
children  pressed  their  dirty  faces  against  the  window 
and  watched  the  proceedings.  The  forlorn  figure 
of  a  man  in  rags  slouched  by  the  open  doorway, 
as  if  hoping  for  some  job  by  which  he  might  earn 
a  night's  lodging.  He  was  shuffling  his  feet  for 
warmth,  and  rubbing  his  hands  together  over  his 
stomach.  The  road,  the  pavement,  the  walls  and 
windows  of  this  dark  street,  were  wet  with  rain  and 
fog. 

We  passed  through  the  doorway,  followed  a 
passage  to  the  back  of  the  house,  and  entered  a  yard, 
so  dark  that  it  was  impossible  to  see  anything 
distinctly.  A  flight  of  wooden  steps,  such  steps  as 
might  lead  to  a  loft,  rose  abruptly  in  front  of  us 


186  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

with  a  hand-rail  none  too  steady  at  the  side.  I 
raised  my  eyes  and  saw  in  the  air  a  little  wooden 
house,  Hke  a  cabman's  shelter.  Through  the  half- 
open  door  of  this  hut  in  the  air  shone  the  white 
light  of  incandescent  gas.  My  guide  mounted  the 
steps,  warning  me  to  be  careful ;  I  followed  him 
through  the  darkness,  with  some  anxiety  as  to 
the  descent.    It  was  Hke  cUmbing  to  a  pigeon  loft. 

He  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered.  A  cheerful 
voice  greeted  him  from  the  interior.  His  laughter 
and  the  laughter  of  another  reached  my  ears  as 
I  passed  through  the  doorway. 

The  interior  of  this  tiny  Uttered  shed  is  such  a 
place  as  Dickens  or  Balzac  would  have  loved  to 
discover,  would  have  spent  their  fuUest  powers  to 
describe.  And  the  man  who  works  there  is  such  a 
person  as  Turgenev  would  have  loved  to  know  and 
loved  to  write  about. 

He  is  a  man  of  medium  height,  spare  of  flesh, 
grey-faced,  grey-headed,  and  grey-eyed,  with  some- 
thing of  a  hkeness  to  Lord  Roberts,  but  with  a 
sparkle  of  light  in  his  shrewd  eyes  which  is  too 
human  and  tolerant  and  humorous  for  a  soldier. 
He  wore  a  cloth  cap  towards  the  back  of  his  head, 
the  peak  puUed  a  little  to  one  side.  He  was  in  shirt 
sleeves,  with  an  apron  over  his  clothes.  At  the 
opening  of  his  waistcoat  one  saw  a  shirt-front  and 
a  black  tie. 

When  I  extended  my  hand  to  him,  he  examined 
the  palm  of  his  own  for  a  moment  with  a  rather 
lugubrious  expression  on  his  face,  and  then  sHpping 
it  under  his  apron,  and  thus  raising  it  to  shake  my 
hand,  he  said,  with  a  very  pleasant  ripple  of  laughter. 


AN  ORIGINAL  CHARACTER  187 

"  You'll  excuse  my  glove,  won't  you  ?  "  Then, 
glancing  about  the  workshop,  "  Where  will  you  sit  ?" 
he  asked,  and  laughed  again.  There  was  only  one 
chair,  and  the  back  was  broken. 

The  workshop  was  hung  with  the  metal  accoutre- 
ments of  horse  harness.  The  man  is  a  coach- 
plater,  and  for  a  hundred  years  the  name  he  bears 
has  been  famous  for  this  particular  work.  His 
father  made  the  brass  harness  for  Queen  Victoria's 
Coronation ;  Lord  Mayors  of  London  for  many 
years  have  gone  their  triumphal  progress  in  Novem- 
ber with  his  brass  harness  on  their  horses'  backs  ; 
the  aristocracy  have  been  his  customers  for  the 
glory  of  their  family  coaches.  The  introduction  of 
the  motor-car  and  the  disappearance  of  splendour 
from  human  equipages,  have  dealt  hard  blows  to 
the  coach-plater.  His  big  shops  have  closed  their 
shutters.  The  shed  in  the  air  is  all  that  is  now  left 
to  him.  In  this  shed  he  does  some  of  the  finest  work 
in  plated  harness  to  be  found  in  all  the  world. 

One  side  of  the  shed  is  occupied  by  a  bench 
with  two  heavy  iron  vices  clamped  to  the  edge. 
A  window  overlooks  this  rough  bench,  which  is 
strewed  with  tools  and  pieces  of  metal.  At  the  end 
farthest  from  the  door  is  a  smaU  forge  ;  beside  the 
forge,  in  a  dark  corner,  stands  a  tall  desk  littered  with 
dusty  papers,  a  penny  bottle  of  ink,  and  a  bundle  of 
broken  pens.  The  red  tiles  of  the  roof  are  not 
obscured  by  plaster  ;  from  the  rafters  hang  horse 
collars  and  two  or  three  pairs  of  hames.  There  is 
a  skylight  in  the  centre  of  these  cobwebbed  tiles. 
A  gas-jet  projects  from  the  wall.  The  wooden  floor 
is  shaky  and  uneven. 


188  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

At  first  the  coach-plater  talked  about  his  business, 
about  the  changes  which  had  overtaken  it,  but  not 
with  bitterness,  always  with  a  ripple  of  amused 
laughter  running  through  his  words,  an  incurable 
cheerfulness  of  character  saving  him  from  bitterness 
or  complaint.  *'  I'm  happy  enough,"  he  teUs  you  ; 
"  happier  than  most,  and  a  deal  happier  than  I 
deserve  to  be.  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  "  he 
demands  of  my  guide,  laughing  himself.  "  Why, 
you're  always  laughing ;  what's  the  matter  with 
you  ?  " 

He  leaned  against  the  office-desk,  his  arms 
folded  over  his  chest,  one  leg  crossed  over  the  other, 
only  the  toe  of  the  boot  on  the  ground.  His  hands 
rubbed  the  sides  of  his  arms  as  he  spoke  ;  every  now 
and  then  he  raised  the  right  hand,  pushed  back  his 
cap,  scratched  his  head,  and  then  with  a  quick  jerk 
puUed  the  peak  of  the  cap  forward  over  his  eyes. 
After  this  the  two  hands  resumed  their  incessant 
rubbings  of  the  arms.  He  has  the  habit  of  sniffing 
through  his  nose  now  and  then,  as  though  the  nos- 
trils were  obstructed.  His  eyebrows  lift  and  twitch 
in  sympathy  with  the  sparkle  of  his  eyes. 

It  was  not  long  before  we  got  him  to  talk  about 
his  rehgious  experiences. 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man,"  he  said,  "  I  lived 
for  one  thing,  and  one  thing  only — Sport.  I  dearly 
loved  a  bit  of  sport.  I  couldn't  think  that  anything 
in  the  world  compared  with  Sport ;  and  certainly 
I  didn't  give  anything  else  a  single  thought.  I  was 
a  sinner,  a  real  sinner — ^no  getting  away  from  that, 
mind  you — but  I  was  not  vicious.  Sport  kept  me 
from  it.    I  didn't  drink  much,  I  didn't  gamble  at 


AN  ORIGINAL   CHARACTER  189 

aU — once  I  had  a  shilling  in  a  sweepstake,  and  lost 
every  penny  of  it ! — and  I  didn't  lark  about  the 
streets  at  night.  No,  aU  the  time  I  was  at  work 
I  was  thinking  of  boxing,  rowing,  and  racing  ;  and 
as  soon  as  I  could  get  away,  I  used  to  go  down  to 
Hungerford  Stairs  and  scull  on  the  Thames  till  it 
was  dark.  Then  I  would  go  where  I  could  see  a 
bit  of  fighting,  or  where  I  could  get  a  sparring 
match  for  myself  ;  and  after  that  I  went  home, 
tumbled  into  bed — no  prayers,  of  course — and  fell 
asleep  dreaming  of  Sport. 

"  Then  a  strange  thing  happened  to  me.  I  began 
to  feel — I  can't  tell  you  how,  for  I  don't  know 
myself  what  began  it — but  I  began  to  feel  uneasy, 
unhappy,  anxious,  worried,  as  if  things  were  going 
wrong  with  me.  At  this  time  I  was  a  young  man 
with  plenty  of  money  and  a  pretty  tall  opinion  of 
myself.  A  friend  of  mine  asked  me  if  I  wouldn't 
join  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association.  I 
said  I'd  consider  it.  He  asked  me  again  ;  I  con- 
sented. I  joined  the  Association.  After  I  had  been 
a  member  for  some  time  I  began  to  see  what  was 
wrong  with  me.  '  Hullo  !  '  I  said  to  myself,  '  you've 
been  Uving  all  this  time  without  a  reason,  without 
a  purpose  ;  you  don't  know  where  you're  going,' 
I  said,  *  you  haven't  a  definite  object  in  Hfe.  If 
you  were  to  die,'  I  said,  *  you'd  be  in  a  nice  fix. 
What  have  you  ever  done  ?  What  are  you  doing 
now  ?  Who  made  you  ?  Why  were  you  made  ? 
What  are  you  here  for  ?  Where  are  you  going 
when  you  die  ? '  Well,  I  saw  at  once  that  I  was  living 
without  religion.  It  seemed  to  me  a  sensible  thing 
to  do  to  get  hold  of  religion.    So  I  set  about  it. 


190  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

"  That's  not  an  easy  job,  is  it  ?  especially  when 
you're  young,  when  you're  thickheaded,  when  you 
think  you  know  something.  No,  it's  not  easy ! 
Anyway,  I  didn't  find  it  easy.  I  listened  to  sermons, 
I  read  the  Bible,  I  said  prayers,  I  talked  about 
religion  with  people  I  met,  but  the  Hght  didn't  come  ; 
I  was  just  about  as  wretched  and  miserable  as  any 
man  can  be.  Well,  if  I  knew  a  man  or  a  dog  who  was 
suffering  as  I  was  suffering  then,  I  should  want  to 
shoot  the  poor  brute — just  to  put  an  end  to  that 
misery.  I  should — honest.  It  was  something 
frightful.  One  day  as  I  was  crossing  over  Black- 
friars  Bridge  I  very  nearly  pitched  myself  over, 
very  nearly — in  fact,  I  was  as  near  to  it  as  any  man 
could  possibly  go  ;  for  I  had  lost  the  wish  to  live, 
and  I  hadn't  the  strength  to  support  the  weight 
on  my  brain  which  was  pressing  me  out  of  life. 
The  gloom  was  something  awful.  The  wretchedness 
— ^no  words  can  describe  it.  How  shall  I  tell  you  ? 
It  was  a  terrible  loneliness  in  my  soul.  I  couldn't 
get  into  contact  with  anything  that  gave  me  the 
feeling  of  companionship.  I  was  alone,  all  alone  by 
myself  ;  not  only,  mark  you,  alone  in  the  world 
of  men,  but  alone  in  the  whole  universe.  I  hadn't 
a  friend  ;  I  hadn't  a  single  friend  in  aU  the  great 
wide  universe  of  Man  and  God.  And  I  couldn't 
stand  the  solitude  ;  it  drove  me  to  the  verge  of 
despair. 

"  How  I  came  to  the  light  was  very  simple. 
It  was  one  evening  as  I  was  reading  the  Bible. 
I  was  following  the  words  of  John  Fourteen : 
*  Let  not  your  heart  he  troubled  :  ye  believe  in  God^ 
believe  also  in  Me.''      Well,  that  didn't  help  me. 


AN  ORIGINAL  CHARACTER  191 

My  heart  was  troubled.  I  could  not  keep  it  from 
being  troubled.  All  my  misery  rose  from  that  fact. 
Believe  in  God  ?  But  I  wanted  to  believe  ;  I  did 
believe  ;  at  least,  I  thought  I  did.  Believe  also  in 
Me,  Well,  that  was  what  I  was  struggling  to  do, 
that  was  what  I  had  been  praying  for,  that  was  what 
my  life  had  become — a  struggle  to  make  myself 
beUeve  in  Christ.  I  read  on.  I  came  to  Verse  Six. 
At  that  moment,  at  the  very  first  sight  of  the  words, 
'  /  am  the  way,"*  darkness  went  clean  out  of  my 
soul.  It  was  all  done  in  a  second.  Done  for  me. 
Done  without  my  doing  anything  at  all.  The 
darkness  went,  the  misery  and  wretchedness  fell 
right  away  from  me,  and  I  was  happy.  I  was  so 
happy  that  I  just  sat  perfectly  still,  feeling  that 
wonderful  happiness  in  my  soul.  And  as  I  sat  there 
I  saw  the  truth  of  it.  Christ  had  done  everything  ; 
nothing  that  I  could  do  was  of  any  use.  It  was  for 
me  to  accept,  to  follow,  and  to  love.  That  was  all. 
To  accept,  to  follow,  and  to  love. 

"  From  that  moment — it's  over  fifty  years  ago 
now — ^the  sense  of  peace,  the  certainty  of  Christ, 
the  conviction  of  my  salvation  through  Him,  have 
never  left  me.  And  I'll  tell  you  something  that  may 
seem  strange  to  you,  but  which  is  as  true  and  real 
as  the  rest.  Not  once  or  twice,  but  often,  very  often, 
as  I  am  working  in  this  shop,  I  look  up,  raise  my 
head,  turn  round,  and  see  Christ — see  Him  standing 
here  in  this  shop.  I  see  Him  as  plainly  as  I  see  you 
now.  It  may  be,  I  don't  say  it  isn't — it  may  be 
that  the  vision  comes  from  my  own  thoughts,  for 
I  am  always  thinking  of  Him  ;  it  may  be,  as  you 
might  say,  I  make  the  vision  myself ;    there's  no 


192  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

knowing  ;  but  all  the  same,  it's  a  real  vision  to 
me.  I  love  to  see  it,  I  am  happier  for  seeing  it, 
and  I  hope  it  will  last  to  my  dying  day.  It  doesn't 
excite  me  ;  it  doesn't  give  me  a  single  strange 
feeling  or  one  wild,  fanciful  thought ;  it  is  just 
beautiful,  and  it  makes  me  happy.  I  look  up,  see 
the  vision,  watch  it  steadily  till  it  fades  away, 
and  then  go  on  with  my  work — with  fresh  happiness 
in  my  heart.  I  hope  you  understand  my  meaning. 
I  don't  lay  claim  to  anything  particular.  I  don't 
set  up  for  a  mystic.  All  I  say  is  this,  that  as  I  work 
in  this  shop  I  very  often  look  up  to  see  a  vision  of 
Christ  regarding  me,  a  vision  which  is  as  real  to 
me  as  you  are  now,  and  the  sight  of  that  vision 
seems  to  me  natural  and  beautiful ;  and  I  am 
happier  for  seeing  it." 

The  written  words  can  convey  no  idea  of  the 
impressiveness,  the  profound  honesty,  and  con- 
vincing sanity  of  this  utterance.  The  old  coach- 
plater's  face  became  very  solemn.  He  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  me,  the  head  bent  a  httle,  the  nervous 
mobile  eyebrows  low  over  the  eyes,  and  still,  the  rest- 
less hands  steady  at  the  sides  of  the  arms.  The 
cheerfulness  and  willing  humour  of  the  voice  quite 
departed,  yet  there  was  nothing  artificial  or 
theatrical  in  the  solemn  tones  of  the  measured 
words.  A  certain  hoarseness  crept  into  his  voice  ; 
there  was  a  touch  of  tears  in  the  grey  eyes. 

While  he  was  speaking,  I  thought  of  the  laun- 
dresses busy  by  gaslight  in  the  house  which  hid  this 
aerial  hut  from  the  street ;  and  I  wondered  what 
they  would  think  if  they  heard  that  the  old  coach- 
plater  had  seen  this  great  vision  in  his  workshop, 


AN   ORIGINAL  CHARACTER  193 

over  their  muddy  backyard,  in  the  midst  of  Old 
Drury.  Would  they  believe  ?  Would  they  under- 
stand ? 

I  had  heard  that  this  man  was  a  teacher  of 
religion,  and  that  ever  since  his  conversion  he  had 
done  a  humble  but  remarkable  work  for  Christianity 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Old  Drury.  I  asked  him 
to  tell  me  about  this  work. 

He  smiled,  tilted  back  his  cap,  rubbed  his  head 
rather  violently,  and  pulling  the  cap  back  over 
his  eyes  and  shifting  his  feet,  he  made  answer, 
"  WeU,  you  can't  expect  much  from  me.  I  needn't 
teU  you,  you  can  see  it  for  yourself,  that  I'm  an 
ignorant  man  ;  at  any  rate,  not  an  educated  man. 
You  can  tell  that  from  my  speech.  I've  had  no 
learning  to  speak  of,  except  what  I've  picked  up, 
going  along.  But  I've  got  a  certain  amount  of 
sense,  and  I  have  certainly  had  some  very  mar- 
vellous answers  to  my  prayers,  helping  me  ;  and  so, 
putting  this  and  that  together,  I  have  done  what 
I  could  to  help  others. 

"  I  fancy  I  must  have  got  the  momentum  in 
that  direction  from  the  Association.  There  were 
some  very  nice  young  feUows  in  the  branch  I 
attended,  clever,  weU-educated,  and  gentlemanly 
young  fellows,  aU  doing  something  to  help  other 
people.  The  Association  taught  me  a  great  deal  in 
that  way.  It  gave  me  the  feeling  that  I  must  work, 
do  something,  give  myself  for  others.  I  don't 
think  I  can  ever  speak  too  well  of  the  Association, 
of  what  it  has  done  for  me,  and  of  what  I  know  it 
has  done  for  many  others.  It's  a  fine  thing,  one  of 
the  greatest  of  our  age. 
o 


194  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

"  Well,  I  started  a  little  Bible  class  of  my  own. 
It  was  rather  successful,  and  some  of  the  members 
began  to  look  upon  me — in  spite  of  the  fact  of  my 
being  an  ignorant  man — as  a  kind  of  an  inspired 
preacher,  a  sort  of  a  born  prophet !  Well,  one  day 
somebody  or  other  said  to  me,  '  I  wish  you'd  speak 
to  a  young  friend  of  mine  ;  he's  in  a  difficulty  ; 
can't  see  his  way  clear.'  *  Certainly,'  I  said  ;  *  you 
send  him  up  to  me.'  Well,  he  came.  And,  bless 
my  soul,  he  was  a  young  gentleman  from  Oxford ! 
I  thought  to  myself,  '  Now  you  have  gone  and  done 
it.'  I  seemed  to  see  that  this  young  man  had  been 
sent  to  me  on  purpose  to  take  my  conceit  down. 
Why,  he  had  got  whole  libraries  in  his  head  ;  and 
what  I  knew  would  have  gone  on  a  postage-stamp. 

"  However,  I  suggested  a  walk,  and  one  Saturday 
afternoon  we  started  off.  He  was  interested  in 
my  class,  and  talked  about  it  very  nicely.  Presently 
we  sUpped,  quite  naturally,  into  an  argument ;  we 
began  on  the  Bible,  and  before  we  had  been  at  it 
five  minutes  I  knew  I  was  out  of  mj?"  depth.  I 
didn't  know  Greek,  I  didn't  know  anything  about 
dates  and  translations,  and  all  the  rest  of  it ;  in 
fact,  it  doesn't  need  me  to  tell  you  that  the  young 
gentleman  very  soon  made  mincemeat  of  Me. 
*  Well,'  I  told  myself,  '  you've  taken  on  rather  more 
this  time,  old  cocky,  than  you  can  deal  with  !  ' 
If  Bradlaugh  himself  had  been  walking  at  my 
side  I  couldn't  have  cut  a  poorer  figure.  I  was 
very  nearly  throwing  up  the  sponge. 

"  Then  it  came  to  me,  aU  of  a  sudden,  that  I  was 
trying  to  do  then,  just  what  I  had  been  trying  to  do 
before    my    conversion — trying    to    do    what    had 


AN   ORIGINAL   CHARACTER  195 

already  been  done  for  me  and  for  everybody  else 
many  years  before — shoving  myself  forward,  as 
you  might  say.  With  this  thought  in  my  mind 
I  turned  and  gave  the  young  gentleman  a  straight 
talk  clean  out  of  my  heart,  not  one  word  of  it  from 
the  brain.  I  asked  him  if  he  didn't  want  to  be  at 
peace  ;  if  he  didn't  want  to  have  rest  of  soul ;  and 
I  asked  him  if  he  thought  Bradlaugh  or  Tom 
Paine  or  any  other  atheist  could  ever  give  him  that. 
They  might  trouble  his  mind  about  the  Bible, 
but  could  they  give  him  peace,  joy,  love,  holiness  ? 
And  I  told  him  from  my  own  experience  that  he 
himself  could  never  get  those  things,  not  one  of 
them.  I  told  him  that  they  were  things  neither 
to  be  learned  nor  earned — that  they  were  gifts, 
gifts  of  God,  gifts  to  the  human  heart  through 
Christ  Who  had  redeemed  the  human  race. 

"  And  do  you  know,  something  I  said  must  have 
touched  that  young  scholar's  heart ;  for  although  he 
could  double  me  up  in  argument,  he  gave  in  one 
day,  and  told  me  that  what  I  knew  by  experience 
was  worth  aU  he  had  ever  learned  from  books.  He 
became  a  Christian,  a  good  Christian ! " 

Many  other  stories,  some  of  them  encounters 
with  atheists,  the  old  coach-plater  told  me  in  his 
shed  that  night.  He  has  won  numbers  of  men  from 
evil  to  goodness,  has  converted  many,  and  has  long 
been  a  centre  of  faith  in  a  neighbourhood  which 
seems  dark  and  hideous  with  a  vulgar  materiahsm. 

The  following  story  is  particularly  interesting 
because  of  its  strange  ending. 

Some  years  ago  the  coach-plater  was  asked  to 
call  upon  a  man  who  had  no  faith,  and  was  ill  and 


196  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

was  unhappy.  This  man  in  a  small  way  was  notori- 
ous for  atheistical  ideas. 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  him  yourself  ?  "  asked  the 
coach-plater.  "  Yes."  "  What  did  you  say  to 
him  ?  "  "I  gave  him  Ephesians."  "  What  ?  " 
said  the  coach-plater ;  "  Ephesians  I  That's  a  bit 
stiff,  isn't  it  ?  Is  the  man  a  Christian,  then  ?  I 
thought  you  told  me  he  was  an  atheist  ?  "  "So 
he  is."  "  Well,  don't  you  think,"  asked  the  coach- 
plater,  "  that  you're  expecting  a  bit  too  much  of 
him  ?  Ephesians  is  good,  very  good  ;  but  Christ 
is  better.  You  want  to  prepare  the  heart  first  with 
Christ  before  you  get  introducing  Ephesians  to 
the  head."  After  that  he  promised  to  go  and  see 
the  sick  man.  A  certain  clergyman,  a  great  friend 
of  the  coach-plater,  had  already  been  there  several 
times  ;  but  in  vain.  The  coach-plater  prayed  for 
guidance,  and  set  out  to  pay  his  first  visit.  The 
atheist  he  found  was  a  hard  man. 

"  I  didn't  talk  to  him  about  reHgion  for  some 
days,"  said  the  coach-plater.  "  I  just  used  to  drop 
in  of  an  evening,  go  up  to  his  bedroom,  sit  beside 
his  pillow  talking  of  anything  that  I  thought  might 
cheer  him  up,  and  then  take  my  leave  with  the  hope 
that  he  would  pass  a  comfortable  night.  Very  few 
of  his  friends  came  near  him,  so  he  was  rather  touched 
by  these  visits.  WeU,  one  evening  he  started  the 
subject  himself.  He  asked  me  what  I  beheved  and 
why  I  believed.  I  told  him.  He  said  he  couldn't 
beheve  anything  like  that.  He  said  he  thought 
the  Bible  was  a  forgery.  I  said  to  him,  *  Look  here, 
just  oblige  me  by  telling  me  what  year  it  is.'  He 
seemed   surprised.     I   pressed   him.      *  Come   on,' 


AN   ORIGINAL   CHARACTER  197 

I  said  ;  '  what  year  is  it  ?  '  He  told  me.  '  What ! ' 
I  exclaimed,  '  I  thought  the  world  was  millions  of 
years  old  ?  '  '  So  it  is,'  he  said  ;  '  many  millions.' 
'  But,'  I  answered,  '  the  date  doesn't  make  it  even 
two  thousand — that's  a  rum  go,  that  is  !  You  said 
millions,  didn't  you  ?  '  Then,  as  he  was  staring  at 
me,  I  asked  him  if  he  didn't  think  it  a  strange  thing 
that  a  forgery — something  that  had  never  happened 
— should  have  given  the  date  to  all  civilised  nations. 
The  year  of  our  Lord  ;  Anno  Domini.  Everything 
starting  from  the  birth  of  someone  who  had  never 
existed.  What  an  extraordinary  thing  !  Certainly 
the  calendar  would  never  be  altered  to  start  from 
the  birth  of  Tom  Paine  or  Charles  Bradlaugh. 
No  one  could  imagine  that.  They  had  certainly 
lived ;  but  who  would  think  of  dating  human 
experience  from  the  year  of  their  births  ?  Why  from 
Christ  ?  A  carpenter's  son,  a  crucified  man  in  a  httle 
obscure  country  that  wasn't  even  free  !  Surely, 
there  must  have  been  something  very  strange, 
and  very  wonderful,  and  very  important,  in  this 
Christ.  He  must  have  done  something  nobody  else 
had  done. 

"  Well,  from  that  I  went  on  to  the  heart  of  things. 
I  told  him  that  salvation  was  a  gift  from  God, 
that  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  accept  it,  that  God 
didn't  give  him  anything  hard  or  difficult  to  do,  but 
on  the  contrary,  wouldn't  let  him  do  anything  at 
aU.  It  was  done  for  him.  Christ  had  done  it. 
All  he  had  to  do  was  to  believe  that  Christ 
had  done  it.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  let  himself 
think  of  Christ  having  done  it  for  him  tiU  gratitude 
came  into  his  heart,  and  until  gratitude  changed  to 


198  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

love.  He  saw  it.  He  came  round  in  a  few  days. 
He  became  a  happy  man. 

"  One  day  a  stranger  came  running  up  these 
stairs,  calling  for  me.  The  poor  sick  fellow  was 
dying  and  wanted  to  see  me.  He  had  told  the 
messenger  to  look  for  me  in  *  the  shop  behind  the 
house.'  There  wasn't  time  to  wash  or  put  on  a  coat 
even.  I  started  off  and  ran  round  to  the  dying  man 
just  as  I  was,  just  as  I  am  now — shirt-sleeves  and 
apron. 

"  The  wife  and  children  were  gathered  round  the 
bed.  They  were  all  weeping.  A  nurse  was  standing 
by  the  pillows.  The  man  looked  at  me — he  was 
perfectly  conscious — and  greeted  me  with  his  eyes. 
I  took  his  hand  and  spoke  to  him.  He  said  to  me, 
'  What  are  they  crying  for  ?  Why  do  they  cry  ?  ' 
Then  he  smiled,  and  said  to  me,  '  Why  don't  they 
sing  ?  '  After  a  moment  he  repeated  it,  '  Why  don't 
they  sing  ?  ' — as  if  he  were  conscious  of  a  coming 
glory.  It  was  a  difficult  thing  to  do,  but  I  and  the 
nurse  started  a  hymn,  one  of  his  favourites,  and  we 
sang  it  very  softly  round  his  bed.  He  lay  there, 
smiling,  with  his  eyes  shut. 

"  Presently  the  end  came  quite  near.  I  never 
saw  anything  like  it  before,  and  I  don't  expect  to 
see  anything  like  it  again.  The  man  said,  calmly 
and  happily,  '  I'm  going  now.'  And  then  he  lifted 
his  hand  to  say  good-bye  to  his  wife,  just  as  if  he 
was  merely  setting  out  on  a  journey.  He  bade  her 
good-bye,  thanked  her  for  all  her  goodness  and 
love  ;  and  then  turned  to  the  children.  One  by  one 
he  said  good-bye  to  them.  He  told  the  girls  always 
to  mind  what  their  mother  said  to  them,  and  he 


AN  ORIGINAL   CHARACTER  199 

bade  the  boys  be  good  and  take  care  of  their  mother 
and  help  her.  His  voice  seemed  to  be  strong,  his 
eyes  seemed  to  be  bright  with  hfe.  It  was  just  hke 
a  man  going  away  on  a  journey.    Finally  he  turned 

to  me.    '  Good-bye,  Mr. ,'  he  said,  giving  me  his 

hand  ;  and  holding  it,  looking  into  my  eyes  with 
great  meaning,  he  said,  '  /  shall  see  you  again.'*  At 
that  very  moment  he  died  ;  without  a  struggle, 
without  a  gasp,  without  any  visible  coUapse,  the 
man  lay  suddenly  and  quietly  dead.  When  I  came 
to  take  my  hand  away,  I  found  that  I  couldn't. 
The  nurse  had  to  unfasten  the  dead  fingers.  It 
was  a  wonderful  death-bed  !  " 

It  will  give  some  idea  of  the  affection  which  this 
charming  man,  so  original,  and  sensible,  and 
whimsical,  and  tender-hearted,  inspires  in  his 
friends,  to  teU  the  following  incident.  A  member 
of  his  Bible  class  came  round  to  the  workshop 
one  evening,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  come  and 
dine  with  a  few  friends  in  a  restaurant.  He  said 
that  such  things  were  not  in  his  way.  The  other 
persisted,  said  it  was  important,  and  finally  per- 
suaded the  coach-plater  to  comply  with  the  request. 
When  he  entered  the  room  in  which  the  dinner  was 
served,  he  found  it  filled  entirely  with  old  members 
of  his  Bible  class,  gathered  from  aU  parts  of  London, 
some  of  them  from  the  country.  There  were  middle- 
aged  men  there  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  their 
boyhood  ;  men  who  said  that  they  owed  everything 
to  his  teaching  and  influence.  At  the  end  of  the 
dinner  a  presentation  was  made  to  the  coach-plater 
of  a  purse  containing  many  pounds. 

The  dinner  was  given  to  show  the  love  of  his 


200  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

friends,  and  the  purse  was  subscribed  because  a 
few  of  those  friends  had  heard  how  his  business  had 
suffered  in  recent  years. 

"  I  was  once  a  bit  of  a  swell,  had  plenty  of  money," 
he  told  me  ;  "  used  to  reckon  myself  one  of  the  great 
merchants  of  the  City  of  London  !  "  He  laughed, 
and  scratched  his  head.  "  Well,  most  of  that  has 
gone.  I'm  rather  a  humble  kind  of  person  now  ; 
and  I  don't  know  that  I'm  sorry.  I  don't  know  that 
it  has  made  very  much  difference  to  me.  For  one 
thing,  I've  let  a  good  part  of  it  go  myself.  I  mean, 
I  haven't  pushed  for  orders.  I  was  never  one  to 
eat  up  my  neighbours.  Live  and  let  Hve  !  So  long 
as  I  have  got  enough  to  keep  me  pleasantly  busy, 
and  can  earn  enough  to  pay  my  way  honestly, 
I  don't  complain.  This  Hfe  isn't  only  a  scramble  for 
money.    Oh  no  ;  it's  something  better  than  that !  " 

A  really  lovable,  good  man. 


CHAPTER  XI 
A   LITTLE   PUBLICAN 

IN  this  strange  story  of  a  very  ordinary  life  the 
reader  will  make  acquaintance  with  one  of 
those  London  interiors  which,  unknown  to  the 
majority  of  respectable  people,  are  the  radiant  centre 
of  I  know  not  how  many  crowding  Uves. 

"  To  begin  with,"  says  the  handsome  boy, 
laughing  amusedly — and  he  nurses  one  of  his  knees, 
leans  back  on  the  table  where  he  has  perched 
himself,  and  regards  me  with  a  shy  but  calculating 
scrutiny — "  to  begin  with  I  was  born  in  a  pub." 

He  is  six-and-twenty,  but  looks  not  more  than 
eighteen  or  nineteen.  Nevertheless,  his  manner  has 
aU  the  ease,  brightness,  and  assurance  of  a  middle- 
aged  flaneur.  I  am  perplexed  for  a  long  time  by 
the  contradiction  which  exists  between  his  appear- 
ance and  his  mind.  The  face  suggests  an  angel — 
rather  a  well-bred  and  effeminate  angel ;  the  manner 
is  cjniical,  mocking,  hard.  It  is  difficult  to  beheve 
that  a  youth  so  pretty  and  pleasing  can  have  hved 
at  close  quarters  with  the  squalor  of  depravity  : 
more  difficult  to  reaUse  that  a  mind  so  apparently 
gay,  cheerful,  and  almost  flippant  can  ever  have 
suffered  the  revolution  of  a  great  spiritual  experience. 
But,  the  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth. 

201 


202  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

As  I  look  at  him  I  see  a  handsome  boy  ;  as  I 
listen  to  him,  I  hear  a  man  of  the  world  who  knows 
everything.  It  is  difficult  for  a  long  time  to  know 
what  to  make  of  him. 

"  It  wasn't  a  very  hopeful  beginning,"  he  says, 
with  a  smile  which  half  closes  the  grey  eyes  and 
depresses  the  corners  of  the  smaU  mouth.  He  is 
evidently  averse  from  tragedy  or  sentimentaHsm, 
is  something  of  a  humorist,  deprecates  anything  in 
the  nature  of  exaggeration.  He  continues :  "A 
pub.  in  the  middle  of  the  City  isn't  exactly  the  place 
you'd  choose  for  a  kid's  start  in  life.  It  sharpens 
the  wits,  I've  no  doubt ;  but  it  plays  hanky-panky 
with  the  rest  of  one.  I  knew  pretty  well  everything 
there  is  to  know  before  I  was  nine  ;  but  what 
people  caU  '  everything  there  is  to  know  '  is  just 
that  kind  of  thing  which  it  is  better  not  to  know  at 
all.  My  father  owned  the  pub.  It  was  a  Httle  place, 
and  we  did  all  the  work  ourselves.  No  barmen  or 
barmaids — a  family  affair.  It  was  one  of  those 
taverns  which  are  in  the  nature  of  clubs  ;  it  had  its 
regular  customers  ;  the  stranger  dropping  in  for  a 
drink  and  then  flying  away  was  a  rare  bird.  The 
same  men  came  every  night,  and  sat  there,  as  a  rule, 
tiU  closing  time.  Everybody  knew  everybody  else. 
They  were  small  tradesmen,  smaU  business  men, 
with  a  few  salesmen  from  the  markets.  It  was 
rather  a  jolly  place  in  a  way.  Fellows  played  games 
there  of  various  kinds — cards  and  dominoes.  Games 
weren't  allowed  by  law,  but  at  the  side  of  the  place, 
up  a  little  court,  there  was  a  door ;  we  called  it  the 
'  Bobby's  Door.'  My  father  was  never  worried  by 
the  police  ! 


A   LITTLE    PUBLICAN  203 

"  One  of  the  features  of  the  pub.  was  a  Sunday 
excursion.  My  father  used  to  get  cheap  tickets  from 
the  railway  companies,  sell  them  during  the  week 
at  a  smaU  profit,  and  on  Sunday  he  would  take 
charge  of  the  excursion,  organise  the  catering,  and 
run  the  whole  show,  there  and  back.  They  generally 
ended  up  with  a  carouse  at  home  !  I've  heard  some 
stories — you  bet  !  Sometimes  we  would  go  to 
Brighton  or  Margate  ;  sometimes  inland  to  places 
like  Wolverhampton.  It  meant  hard  work  for  my 
brother  and  myself.  But  it  paid,  and  we  always 
enjoyed  the  outing  when  we  got  it.  Saturday 
nights,  of  course,  were  always  our  hardest  times  ; 
but  we  had  to  be  up  at  five  next  morning  to  prepare 
for  the  Sunday  excursion.  My  brother  and  I  worked 
like  niggers.  We  had  to  be  nippy,  as  you  can 
imagine.  Little  sharp  beggars  we  were  ! — ^not  much 
idle  time  for  getting  into  mischief.  I've  often 
worked  in  the  bar,  as  a  Httle  kid,  from  eight  in  the 
morning  till  half -past  twelve  at  night.  Pretty  long 
hours  for  a  nipper !  I  understood  before  I  was  in 
my  teens  all  about  breaking-down  spirits  and  fining- 
down  beer.  We  used  to  fine  down  the  beer  with 
skate's-skin — stuff  Hke  London  mud  !  I  tell  you, 
I  don't  want  to  drink  any  more  beer.  Water's 
good  enough  for  this  chicken  ! 

"  I  began  to  drink  when  I  was  quite  a  kid.  I  got 
toothache  one  day  ;  my  face  was  swoUen  ;  and  I 
looked  generally  dicky.  Some  fathead  in  the  bar 
told  me  that  stout  was  a  certain  cure.  I  tried  it, 
and  that  was  the  beginning.  Kids  are  challenged 
to  drink  in  bars.  FeUows  seem  to  think  it  funny 
to  see  a  little  beggar  roUing  about  drunk.    I  used  to 


204  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

be  proud  of  my  capacity.  I'd  drink  great  glasses 
of  port,  one  after  another.  Sometimes  I  was  sick. 
I  used  to  run  outside,  making  for  the  door  with  all 
my  might.  The  fatheads  used  to  laugh  as  if  they 
would  spHt.  And  then  I'd  come  back  and  begin 
again. 

"  My  father  sent  us  to  school  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. We  were  potboys  and  scholars  all  in  one. 
I  rather  Uked  school.  We  were  Hvely  boys,  and 
made  friends.  One  of  my  friends  was  a  tip-top 
decent  sort  of  boy.  He  asked  me  once  to  meet  him 
on  Sunday  and  go  to  Sunday-school.  From  his 
description  it  sounded  jolly.  I  regarded  it  as  an 
excuse  for  getting  away  from  home.  Curious  idea, 
wasn't  it  ? — Sunday-school  seemed  to  me  a  bit  of 
an  adventure,  a  new  gHmpse  into  the  world  outside 
our  pub.  I  wanted  to  go  very  much.  But  when  I 
asked  my  father's  leave  he  fairly  exploded  at  me. 
'  You  dare  to  go  to  Sunday-school !  '  he  shouted  at 
me  ;  '  you  dare — ^that's  all !  '  I  felt  as  if  I  had 
proposed  something  wicked  !  " 

He  swings  himself  from  the  table  to  a  taU  office 
stool.    He  is  becoming  interested  in  his  own  story. 

"  Most  extraordinary  thing  that — my  father's 
point  of  view.  He  seemed  to  regard  anything  in  the 
nature  of  rehgion  with  a  positive  aversion.  And  yet 
I  never  remember  hearing  him  argue  about  rehgion. 
He  wasn't  an  active  enemy  or  an  embittered  critic. 
He  never  mentioned  the  subject  himself.  But  you 
only  had  to  suggest  it  to  get  him  at  boiling  point. 
He  swore  at  it,  grew  purple  in  the  face,  and 
then  dropped  it,  like  a  hot  coal.  He  was  a  big  man, 
and  tremendously  fat.    When  I  look  back  now  I 


A    LITTLE    PUBLICAN  205 

can't  imagine  how  he  Hved.  He  never  took  five 
minutes'  exercise  in  the  open  air.  From  Monday 
morning  to  Saturday  night  he  was  in  the  pub.  He 
used  to  sit  in  the  bar,  drinking  with  the  customers. 
My  mother  and  we  two  boys  did  most  of  the  work 
of  the  house.  On  Sundays,  in  summer-time,  he 
would  go  on  our  excursions  ;  but  aU  the  rest  of  his 
life  he  was  seated  on  a  stool  in  the  bar,  drinking  and 
talking.  I  was  not  sufficiently  interested  in  rehgion 
to  be  curious  about  his  point  of  view  ;  I  only  knew 
that  it  was  a  subject  which  roused  the  Hon's  wrath. 
It's  true  to  say  that  I  grew  up,  in  the  very  centre 
of  London,  without  the  smallest  notion  of  Chris- 
tianity. My  mother  ? — ^weU,  she  was  always  so 
occupied.  As  far  as  I  know  she  never  once  mentioned 
rehgion.  It  was  with  her  as  with  thousands  of 
others — she  never  gave  it  a  thought.  It  didn't 
come  into  her  Hfe.  At  any  rate  my  brother  and  I 
got  no  notion  of  rehgion  from  our  parents.  We  grew 
up  in  absolute  ignorance  of  the  whole  subject.  In 
the  very  heart  of  the  City  !  I  often  think  now  what 
a  jolly  rum  place  London  is.  I  dare  say  if  you  were 
to  count  all  the  children  who  don't  even  know  the 
story  of  Christianity  it  would  make  a  pretty  con- 
siderable army.  As  I  walk  along  the  streets  I  often 
look  into  houses  and  wonder.  .  .  . 

"  But  I  must  teU  you  my  story.  I  was — ^let  me 
see — ^yes,  I  suppose  I  must  have  been  over  thirteen, 
thirteen  and  a  half  perhaps,  when  I  began  to  get 
other  notions  of  things.  I  ran  up  against  one  of 
my  schoolfellows.  It  was  in  the  streets.  We  had 
a  chat,  just  about  anything  ;  and  then  he  intro- 
duced me  to  a  friend  of  his.    This  friend  belonged  to 


206  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

the  Youths'  Section  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian 

Association  in  Street — a  pretty  lively  crowd 

at  that  time  !  He  told  me  about  it — the  games, 
sports,  lectures,  and  Bible  classes.  It  sounded 
aU  right.  I  told  him  I  should  Hke  to  join.  And 
then  he  asked  me  to  his  house. 

"  To  show  you  the  state  I  was  in,  I  found  that  this 
fellow's  people  had  family  worship,  and  after  my 
first  experience  of  such  a  thing,  I  took  the  chap 
on  one  side  and  asked  him — '  Is  it  serious  ?  '  I 
simply  couldn't  make  it  out.  Reading  the  Bible 
out  loud,  and  then  kneeling  down  at  a  chair  and 
praying  to  God ! — it  seemed  to  me  a  sort  of 
game,  something  that  couldn't  possibly  be  real 
and  serious. 

"  All  the  same,  I  was  tremendously  struck.  For 
days  afterwards  I  thought  about  that  family  wor- 
ship. It  haunted  me.  I  was  something  hke  a 
fellow  with  a  bee  in  his  bonnet.  I  couldn't  think 
of  anything  else.  AU  day  long  in  the  pub.,  and 
afterwards,  upstairs  in  my  bed  as  I  lay  waiting  for 
sleep,  I  thought  of  that  httle  family,  gathered 
together  in  a  room,  kneeling  at  chairs,  and  praying 
to  God,  praying  to  be  good.  The  thing  had  photo- 
graphed itself  on  my  brain.  I  saw  it  as  a  picture. 
It  kept  jumping  up  in  the  dark,  real  as  Mfe.  I 
thought  about  it. 

"  My  father  died  about  this  time.  I  don't  think  it 
made  much  difference  to  me.  My  brother  and  I 
knew  that  there  would  be  certain  money  to  come 
to  us  when  we  were  twenty-one,  and  that  is  about 
aU  we  thought  of  the  matter.  We  had  to  work 
harder  than  ever.    My  mother  kept  on  the  business, 


A   LITTLE    PUBLICAN  207 

and  we  boys  were  her  only  helpers.  Mind  you, 
I  wasn't  fifteen  at  the  time.  My  brother  was  a 
year  older.  And  we  two  youngsters  practically  ran 
that  London  pub.  It's  rather  a  queer  experience, 
isn't  it  ? 

"  I  joined  the  Youths'  Section  of  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association.  As  often  as  I  could 
I  ran  round  there  in  the  evening  and  attended  all 
the  classes.  I  did  it  at  first  simply  for  something  to 
do.  My  friend  was  a  member.  It  was  a  case  of 
wanting  to  keep  up  a  friendship,  and  having  some- 
thing to  do  that  was  different  from  the  day's 
work. 

"  To  look  back  on  that  time  is  rather  curious. 
I'm  not  sure  if  I  quite  knew  what  was  happening 
to  me.  AU  day  long  I  was  among  the  bottles  and 
barrels,  surrounded  by  jovial  drinkers,  working  like 
a  galley-slave,  and  yet  hking  it  all  in  some  strange 
way  which  I  can't  define.  Then  in  the  evening  I 
would  spend  an  hour  or  two  in  the  Association,  at 
Bible  classes  and  prayer  meetings.  Quite  a  different 
sort  of  thing  ;  and  yet  I  Mked  that  too.  I  got  to 
know  about  God.  Religion  was  no  longer  a  strange 
idea  to  my  mind.  But  nothing  else,  apparently — 
it's  so  difficult  to  say — occurred  to  me.  The  only 
definite  effect  of  twelve  months  in  the  Youths' 
Section  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association 
was  to  unsettle  me.  I  felt  myself  unsettled.  At  the 
end  of  that  twelve  months  I  was  unhappy  and 
confused.  I  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  fife. 
The  things  which  had  seemed  to  me  normal, 
ordinary,  inevitable,  and  quite  respectable,  now 
seemed  somehow  wrong,  somehow  false,  somehow 


208  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

dangerous.  But,  at  the  same  time,  the  new  things 
I  had  learned  in  the  Association  did  not  seem  to 
me  practical  and  real.  I  was  troubled  and  bothered. 
It  was  Hke  a  fellow  trjdng  to  find  his  way  in  a 
fog. 

"  One  feeling  began  to  emerge.  I  wanted  to  be 
good.  I  had  a  strong  conviction  in  my  soul  that 
I  could  be  better.  That's  really  the  first  definite 
thing  I  can  remember.  Before  I  knew  whether  I 
beHeved  or  didn't  believe  what  I  was  taught  at  the 
Association,  I  wanted  to  be  good.  I  saw  good  as 
something  desirable.  And,  as  I  say,  I  was  quite 
certain — ^I  didn't  know  how — ^that  I  could  be  better, 
happier.  Drink  gave  me  a  momentary  happiness, 
but  I  knew  that  it  was  a  false  kind  of  happiness.  It 
was  not  merely  that  the  happiness  from  drink  ended 
in  reaction,  and  that  next  morning  I  felt  foul  in  the 
mouth,  fuzzy  in  the  head,  and  generally  cheap  and 
chippy.  No  ;  it  wasn't  only  that.  I  had  a  quite 
clear  notion  that  the  happiness  itself  was  not  true 
happiness.  I  seemed  to  know  for  an  absolute  truth 
that  real  happiness  was  something  altogether 
different.  But  what  it  was  I  could  not  have  told 
anyone. 

"  I  connected  this  happiness  with  the  idea  of  being 
good.  I  suppose  that  something  I  had  heard  at  a 
meeting  in  the  Association  must  have  stuck  that 
idea  in  my  mind.  But  it  was  vague  and  uncertain. 
I  only  felt  that  goodness  had  something  to  do  with 
happiness.  I  didn't  know  it  for  a  dead  fact  of 
Hfe." 

His  face  grows  serious.  He  averts  his  gaze.  Still 
nursing  his  knee,  and  leaning  far  back  on  the  taU 


A   LITTLE    PUBLICAN  209 

stool,  he  looks  up  at  the  ceiling,  wrinkles  up  his  eyes, 
and  reflects  within  himself.    Then  he  says  : 

"  And  yet  it  was  not  only  moral  unrest.  It 
was  spiritual.  I  am  sure  it  was  my  soul — seeking 
unity  with  God." 

"  You  were  working  all  this  time  in  the  pubUc- 
house  ?  "  I  inquire. 

He  nods  his  head.  "  Yes,  it  was  there,  more  than 
at  the  Association,  that  my  soul  was  clamouring, 
clamouring  and  struggling,  for  that  unity.  I  was 
only  a  kid ;  I  didn't  understand ;  but  I  was 
awfully  unhappy.  I  was  a  child  crying  for  some- 
thing, and  no  one  understanding.  I  had  a  dark 
time.  In  a  way,  it  was  a  fight.  Two  worlds  seemed 
to  be  tearing  me  between  them.  I  couldn't  quite 
decide  which  to  choose.  But  I  fought  against  what 
I  felt  to  be  bad,  and  I  half  fought  against  the 
influence  that  was  drawing  me  away  from  what  I 
felt  to  be  bad. 

"  Something  happened  in  the  family  at  this  time. 
My  mother  married  again.  It  turned  out  to  be  a 
disastrous  step.  I  don't  want  to  say  much  about 
what  followed.  We  were  aU  pretty  miserable, 
my  poor  mother  most  of  all.  The  feUow  turned  out 
a  real  bad  'un.  He  had  simply  married  my  mother 
for  her  money,  and  made  Hfe  a  hell  for  all  of  us. 
Perhaps  it  had  been  a  hell  before  ;  but  now  it  was  a 
conscious  heU.    We  knew  aU  about  it ! 

"  Soon  after  her  second  marriage  there  was  a 
special  mission  at  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association.  A  splendid  fellow  came  down  and 
delivered  a  series  of  addresses.  He  was  the  kind  of 
man  who  makes  a  great  impression  on  boys,  and 
r 


210  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

his  addresses  were  of  the  order  that  go  straight 
to  the  heart,  open  all  the  secret  doors  of  the  inward 
life,  and  make  a  chap  really  look  hard  at  his  own 
face  in  God's  mirror.  I  don't  know  if  I  explain 
what  I  mean.  They  weren't  moral  addresses,  and 
they  weren't  expositions  of  Bible  texts.  They 
brought  all  the  stirrings  of  the  soul  to  the  surface, 
and  set  the  truth  of  one's  own  struggling  spirit,  the 
truth  of  one's  own  troubled  and  secret  heart,  clear 
before  the  gaze.  Well,  they  simply  lifted  me  clean 
out  of  my  doubt  and  uncertainty.  They  made  me 
see  what  I  had  never  seen  till  that  time — the 
necessity  for  a  definite  and  resolute  decision.  I 
understood  then  that  aU  this  time  I  had  been 
drifting.  I  knew  that  my  mind  had  not  taken  a 
definite  straight  course  one  way  or  the  other. 

"  At  one  of  these  meetings  he  called  on  aU  the 
youths  present  whose  hearts  were  determined  to 
decide  for  Christ,  to  stand  up.  I  had  the  kind  of 
feeling  that  I  ought  to  stand  up.  I  felt  it  would 
be  like  telling  the  truth,  owning  up,  doing  the 
straight  thing.  I  don't  think  there  was  much  more 
in  it,  except  that  I  reaUy  did  want  to  get  settled 
and  happy.  Well,  anyhow,  I  stood  up.  What 
happened  I  can't  say.  But  I'm  absolutely  certain  of 
this,  the  mere  fact  of  standing  up  had  a  real  spiritual 
effect.  It's  not  easy  to  explain  ;  some  people  may 
even  ridicule  the  idea  ;  but  the  fact  remains  aU  the 
same.  Until  I  stood  up,  my  mind  was  troubled 
and  wretched  and  dark  ;  as  soon  as  I  stood  up  the 
trouble  vanished,  the  wretchedness  disappeared, 
I  was  conscious  of  fight.  That's  what  happened  to 
me  as  near  as  I  can  explain  it.    I  don't  pretend  for 


A    LITTLE    PUBLICAN  211 

a  moment  that  it  was  a  case  of  instant  illumination. 
I  didn't  at  that  moment  see  the  whole  truth  of  re- 
ligion, nor  realise  the  whole  spirit  of  the  Christian 
hfe.  Whatever  happened  to  me,  it  was  not  a 
blinding,  a  dazzling,  or  even  a  quiet  illumination. 
It  was  rather  a  cessation  of  struggle,  an  end  of 
perplexit}^  just  a  peaceful,  satisfied  feeHng  that  I 
had  done  a  wise  and  right  thing." 

He  seeks  to  get  rid  of  anything  mystic  in  this 
experience  so  far  as  he  himself  is  concerned.  He 
seems  as  if  he  wishes  to  convince  one  that  the  thing 
was  normal  and  natural,  something  that  any  man 
may  experience  at  any  time  if  he  makes  up  a 
definite  mind  to  choose  a  direct  course.  But  it  was 
aU  the  same  the  moment  of  his  conversion.  After- 
wards he  saw  greater  fight,  experienced  a  deeper 
joy,  and  is  one  of  those  men  who  will  continue  to 
grow  in  enlightenment ;  but  at  the  moment  when 
he  stood  up  and  felt  his  struggle  suddenly  collapse 
in  his  soul  he  was  what  men  caU  converted.  The 
decision  was  made.  The  change  of  soul  was 
efl'ected. 

The  serious  look  goes  from  his  face,  as  if  he  is 
glad  to  get  rid  of  the  necessity  for  careful  speaking. 
The  smile  comes  back,  the  pleasing  man-of-the- 
world  smile  so  odd  on  the  boyish  face,  the  smile 
which  wrinkles  up  the  eyes  and  depresses  the  corners 
of  the  mouth. 

"  I'U  tell  you  a  fittle  thing  that  had  a  help  in 
shaping  me,"  he  says  eagerly.  "  I  noticed  for  the 
first  time  the — what  shaU  I  call  it  ? — well,  the  extra- 
ordinary placidity — I  think  that's  the  word — of  the 
men  in  charge  of  the  Youths'  Section  at  our  branch 


212  THE  OHDINARY  MAN 

of  the  Association.  We  were  rather  a  lively  crowd. 
At  times  we  were  real  beasts.  From  horse-play 
and  cheek,  we  often  went  to  something  that  was 
joUy  near  a  riot.  And  yet,  never  once  did  the  men 
lose  their  heads  or  go  for  us  in  any  way.  As  soon  as 
I  began  to  notice  this,  it  struck  me  as  something 
worth  thinking  about.  It  occurred  to  me  that  if  a 
similar  rumpus  was  taking  place  in  the  pub.  /  should 
certainly  not  be  placid  !  And  then  I  began  to  think 
about  the  secret  which  kept  those  men  cahn  and 
kind.  They  were  not  paid  to  teach  us  ;  they  got 
nothing  out  of  us  ;  whether  we  were  good  or  bad 
made  no  difference  to  their  worldly  fortune.  And 
besides,  they  came  to  teach  us  in  their  spare  time, 
when  most  men  are  thinking  of  themselves  ;  and  I 
guessed  that  it  must  sometimes  be  a  bore  for  them, 
sometimes  a  frightful  fag.  And  yet  they  were 
always  placid.    I  was  awfuUy  struck  by  that. 

"  I  began  to  be  serious  in  my  Hfe.  I  wanted  to  get 
the  secret  of  those  men."  He  laughs  softly,  with 
great  amusement  at  himself,  tucking  in  his  chin,  as 
he  adds :  "To  show  you  the  funny  little  beggar  I 
was,  I  used  to  take  a  candle  upstairs,  Ught  it,  and 
sit  up  half  the  night  reading  the  Book  of  Genesis  ! 
I  don't  think  it  did  me  any  good.  But  Hfe  wasn't 
at  aU  easy  just  then.  My  stepfather  was  making 
things  hum.  Our  home-Ufe  in  the  pub.  was  absolutely 
wretched.  And  then  I  felt  unhappy  about  the  drink 
trade.  I  didn't  reHsh  my  share  in  a  trade  which 
did  so  much  harm.  It  got  on  my  conscience.  Things 
went  from  bad  to  worse.  While  I  was  struggling 
with  Genesis  my  stepfather  was  making  ducks  and 
drakes  of  the  business.    At  last  there  was  a  general 


A   LITTLE   PUBLICAN  213 

shindy.  The  place  was  sold.  We  moved  into  the 
suburbs,  and  took  a  private  house.  Although  I  was 
glad  to  be  out  of  the  Trade,  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
that  I  felt  jolly  unhappy  when  I  went  out  of  the  pub. 
for  the  last  time.  I  was  between  fifteen  and  sixteen, 
and  the  dirty  httle  place  was  aU  I  had  ever  known 
of  home.    Honestly,  it  hurt  me  to  go. 

"  Well,  to  cut  a  long  story  short,  things  got  so 
hot  in  the  suburbs  that  it  was  quite  impossible  for 
my  brother  and  myself  to  stay.  We  seemed  to 
enrage  our  stepfather,  which  only  made  things 
worse  for  my  poor  mother.  It  was  she  who  begged 
us  to  go.  If  I  could  have  done  any  good  I  would 
have  stayed  ;  but  it  was  a  hopeless  case,  quite  hope- 
less. In  fact,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  our  stepfather 
kicked  us  out  of  doors.  Well,  I  went  to  Hve  with 
an  aunt,  and  through  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association  got  a  decent  job  in  an  office.  I  worked 
hard,  liked  it  aU  right,  and  after  work  usually  turned 
into  the  Association  for  an  hour  or  two.  I  made  it 
my  club. 

"It's  rather  curious,  this,  by  the  way.  All  the 
time  I  was  using  the  Association  Hke  a  club  some- 
thing was  happening  to  me.  An  unconscious  effect, 
I  suppose  you'd  call  it.  The  kindness  I  received, 
the  atmosphere  of  friendship  and  goodwill,  the 
rehgious  tone  of  everjrthing  were  giving  me  a  twist 
towards  the  right  direction.  I  was  as  moral  as  the 
rest  of  them,  I  suppose  ;  rehgion  was  a  pretty  real 
thing  to  me  ;  but  I  was  stiU  in  the  stage  of  reading 
Genesis  by  candlehght.  Then  it  came  to  me 
from  the  Association,  gradually,  that  the  secret 
was  Work. 


214  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

"  I  don't  know  if  that  is  the  moment  of  illumina- 
tion for  other  people.  It  was  certainly  mine.  When 
the  gradual  process  was  completed  I  saw  quite 
clearly  that  I  must  do  something  for  other  people. 
And  then  life  seemed  reaUy  a  straight  road.  I  saw 
that  reading  Genesis  by  candlehght  wouldn't  help  me 
so  much  as  spending  half  an  hour  in  getting  some 
other  fellow  over  a  stile,  or  trying  to  get  another 
chap,  who  had  fallen  down,  on  to  his  feet.  And  it's 
perfectly  true.  Work  has  a  most  splendid  and  tonic 
effect  on  the  soul.  It  gets  a  man  out  of  himself. 
It's  the  real  thing.  You  catch  the  enthusiasm  of 
religion  by  working  for  other  people. 

*'  So  I  became  a  worker  in  the  Association.  And 
that's  the  end  of  my  story.  I'm  doing  very  weU  in 
business,  and  aU  my  spare  time  I  give  to  working 
for  the  Association.  I  don't  drink  beer  !  I  never 
take  stout  if  I've  got  the  toothache  !  And  I  find 
something  better  to  do  on  Sunday  than  go  on 
excursions  !    In  short,  I'm  occupied  and  happy." 

It  seemed  an  absurd  question  to  ask  such  a  boy, 
but  remembering  that  he  is  six-and-twenty  I  did 
ask  if  he  was  married. 

"  No  ;  my  brother  and  I  have  to  keep  my  mother. 
Our  beautiful  stepfather  got  every  penny  of  her 
money,  and  ours  as  well.  He's  dead  now.  And  she 
Uves  in  the  country.    We  both  contribute." 

*'  And  do  you  stiU  Hve  with  your  aunt  ?  " 

"  No  ;  in  rooms." 

"  That's  rather  dull,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Some  rooms  are  awful,  simply  awful !  But  I've 
been  lucky.  For  the  last  twelve  months  I've  been 
in  clover.    The  family  I'm  with  are  the  best  Chris- 


A   LITTLE    PUBLICAN  215 

tians  I've  ever  known.  The  home-life  is  perfectly 
charming.  I  was  converted  ten  years  ago,  about ; 
but  this  last  twelve  months,  simply  from  hving  with 
these  people,  have  been  twelve  months  of  spiritual 
growth  for  me  ;  I  seem  to  have  changed  completely 
in  the  last  year.  I  can't  tell  you  what  these  people 
are  to  me.  They're  perfectly  delightful.  And  it 
wasn't  till  I  went  to  live  with  them  that  I  had  any 
idea  at  aU  what  home-hfe  could  be.  I  learnt  the 
beauty  of  a  home  in  lodgings  !  It  was  the  first 
Christian  home  I  had  ever  struck. 

"  Yes,  that's  rather  interesting.  After  ten  years 
of  Decision,  I  have  experienced  twelve  months  of 
spiritual  growth.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  I  shall 
go  on  learning  something  fresh  every  day,  go  on 
growing,  spiritually,  tiU  the  end  ;  which  is  better, 
at  any  rate  it  seems  more  interesting  to  me,  than 
one  tremendous  moment  setthng  everything  and 
illuminating  ever3rthing  for  evermore.  Some  men 
one  way,  and  some  another.  Conversion  isn't 
always  a  magic  carpet  that  Hfts  one  up  and  in  a 
jiffy  takes  one  to  the  goal.  My  experience  is  that 
Conversion  means  a  turning  about  and  a  Decision 
for  Christ.  After  that,  growth  and  progress  all  the 
time.  Something  happens  to  one  at  the  moment 
of  Conversion,  but  it  isn't  the  end,  and  it  doesn't 
appear  to  me  to  be  in  the  least  unnatural." 

Simple  as  this  story  is,  a  thoughtful  man  will  not 
be  able  to  read  it,  I  think,  without  a  feeHng  of  its 
inner  wonder.  The  question  must  occur.  What 
would  have  been  the  course  of  this  life  if  religion 
had  not  come  to  consecrate  and  direct  it  ?  Imagine 
the  boy,  kicked  out  of  doors  by  his  stepfather,  left 


216  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

to  shift  for  himself  in  the  streets  of  London.  What 
would  have  been  his  fate  ?  Think  of  him  as  the 
boy  who  spent  all  the  beautiful  and  most  innocent 
years  of  existence  in  a  pubhc-house.  Turned  like 
a  dog  into  the  streets,  what  course  could  his  Ufe 
have  run  but  one  of  depravity  and  ruin  ? 

Was  it  a  chance  too,  only  blind  accident,  that  he 
made  a  friendship  at  school  which  introduced  him 
to  the  idea  of  prayer,  of  family  prayer,  and  after- 
wards brought  him  into  touch  with  a  reHgious 
society  ?  Was  there  nothing  but  a  boy's  whim  in 
the  impulse  which  led  him  to  become — ^this  poor 
little  potboy — a  member  of  that  reUgious  society  ? 
If  it  is  a  question  of  temperament,  from  where  did  he 
get  the  rehgious  inclination  ?  In  his  house  he  learned 
nothing  of  religion  ;  his  Ufe  was  calculated  in  every 
way  to  keep  all  notion  of  rehgion  out  of  his  soul ; 
and  his  environment  was  one  which  makes  for  sin, 
vulgarity,  carelessness,  and  a  sort  of  coarse,  sodden, 
and  torpid  brutality.  Yet  there  was  something 
in  the  boy's  soul  which  opened  to  rehgion.  An 
invisible  Hand  led  him  into  a  religious  atmosphere  ; 
in  that  atmosphere  he  responded  to  rehgion.  Is  it 
easier  to  explain  by  an  abrupt  and  dismissing  use  of 
the  word  Coincidence  ? — or  by  holding  the  faith 
of  the  best  and  noblest  of  humanity  that  the 
angels  of  God  fight  for  us  in  the  midst  of  the 
battle  ? 

As  I  walked  away  from  my  meeting  with  this 
strange  youth  I  wondered  if  George  Williams 
dreamed,  when  he  planned  his  pious  society  for 
drapers'  assistants,  that  he  was  stretching  out  a 
hand  through  time  which  would  one  day  lift  a  little 


A    LITTLE    PUBLICAN  217 

boy  out  of  a  public-house  and  bring  him  to  the 
Cross  of  Christ. 

Think  what  you  wiU  of  this  story,  does  it  not 
convince  you  that  in  the  midst  of  London  there 
goes  on  aU  about  us  a  great  invisible  struggle  of 
the  soul,  and  that  the  real  drama  of  the  City's 
life  is  with  this  spiritual  conflict? 


CHAPTER   Xn 
THE   BIG   SCALE 

I  STATED  in  my  Foreword  that  the  reader 
would  learn  in  the  course  of  the  narratives 
something  about  the  great  work  of  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association  in  North  America.  The 
man  of  whom  I  give  some  account  in  this  chapter  is 
one  of  the  Association's  chief  organisers  in  the 
United  States  and  Canada,  and  he  is  perhaps 
better  acquainted  with  the  operations  of  the 
Brotherhood  all  over  that  vast  continent  than 
any  other  American. 

"  My  own  story  won't  interest  you  a  bit,"  he 
protested.  "  There's  nothing  in  it.  I  just  came 
along,  same  as  hundreds  of  other  young  fellows, 
got  caught  in  the  cogs  of  the  Association,  gave  up 
everything  else,  and  then  went  round  with  the 
wheels.  I  Hke  going  round  with  the  wheels  ;  it's  all 
right.  But  I  guess  I  can  tell  you  other  things  that 
are  really  interesting.  If  you'll  allow  me.  The 
Association  in  America  is  big.  There's  a  lot  to  say 
about  it.  You  don't  get  men  Hke  Mr.  Roosevelt 
taking  up  things  that  are  not  big,  and  he's  just  dead 
keen  on  the  Association.  I  tell  you,  people  in  Eng- 
land don't  realise  what  the  Association  is  in  the 
United  States  and  Canada.     On  the  other  side  of 

218 


THE    BIG    SCALE  219 

the  Atlantic  it's  part  of  the  national  life.  It's  one 
of  the  great  national  forces.  But  here,  why,  seems 
to  me,  you're  missing  something  that's  worth  while. 
You've  got  some  splendid  men  at  the  head  of  the 
Association,  some  of  the  finest  I've  ever  struck, 
but  as  a  nation,  as  a  government,  you  don't  seem 
to  catch  on  to  a  good  thing  even  when  you've 
got  it. 

"  Now,  I'll  just  teU  you  what  the  American 
branch  sets  out  to  do.  Begin  right  here  with  what 
Mr.  Roosevelt  says.    These  are  his  very  words  : 

''  '  All  of  us  will  make  this  twentieth  century 
better,  and  not  worse,  than  any  century  that  has 
gone  before  in  proportion  as  we  approach  the 
problems  that  face  us,  as  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association  has  approached  them,  with  a  firm  reso- 
lution that  it  will  neglect  no  one  side  of  the  develop- 
ment of  the  man,  but  will  strive  to  make  him  decent, 
God-fearing,  law-abiding,  honour-loving,  fearless 
and  strong,  able  to  hold  his  own  in  the  hurly-burly 
of  the  world^s  work,  able  also  to  strive  mightily  that 
the  forces  of  right  may  be  in  the  end  triumphant,* 

"  Nothing  of  the  milksop  about  that  !  No,  sir, 
we  don't  manufacture  milksops  in  the  Association. 
And  here's  the  secret.  We  don't  organise  ourselves 
on  the  lines  that  we're  engaged  in  making  men 
Christians,  but  on  the  lines  that  we're  engaged  in 
making  Christian  men.  You'U  admit  that  a  man 
can  be  a  Christian  and  awful  poor  stuff.  There 
are  some  Christians  you  wouldn't  care  to  employ  to 
look  after  a  yellow  dog.  Phj^sically  and  mentally 
they're  not  up  to  standard.     But  make  a  Christian 


220  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

man,  and  you've  got  the  finest  article  of  the 
human  race,  mentally  and  physically.  Isn't  that 
so  ?  You  can't  beat  the  clean,  straight  fellow  who 
follows  the  Ideal.  He's  top-notch.  Whether  it  is 
as  soldier  or  sailor,  clerk  or  hand,  merchant  or 
lawyer,  minister  or  doctor,  the  Christian  man  stands 
right  out. 

"  Well,  we  say  in  America  that  every  feature 
contributes  to  a  Christian  man.  We  say  he  has 
not  only  got  to  be  moral  but  intellectual,  not  only 
good,  but  fit  right  through.  And  so  we  make  every 
branch  of  the  Association  a  manufactory  for  the 
highest  type  of  civilised  human — the  Christian  man. 
We  get  the  best  men  to  teach  him  the  history  and 
spirit  of  Christianity,  so  that  he  can  hold  his  own 
in  any  argument  as  well  as  know  how  to  five  the 
life  ;  and  we  get  the  best  men  to  educate  him  in  aU 
secular  subjects,  so  that  he  may  be  able  to  enjoy 
existence  like  a  rational  creature  as  well  as  fit  him- 
self for  good  employment ;  and  we  get  the  best 
physical  directors  to  educate  him  in  the  develop- 
ment of  his  body,  so  that  he  may  be  able  to  appre- 
ciate the  joy  of  health  as  weU  as  save  money  on  the 
doctor  and  prove  himself  a  strong  citizen,  worthy  of 
a  great  country. 

"  That  reminds  me.  Here's  a  story  might  in- 
terest you.  Two  widows  came  one  day  to  a  branch 
of  the  Association  in  one  of  our  largest  manufacturing 
towns.  They  were  ladies,  but  come  down.  I  don't 
know  whether  you've  got  any  of  the  sort  over  here  ; 
we've  hundreds  of  them  in  the  States.  Rich  one 
day,  poor  the  next.  Oh,  they're  common.  Well, 
these  two  women  were  the  widows  of  rich  men. 


THE    BIG    SCALE  221 

And  they'd  both  come  right  down.  One  was  living 
by  a  httle  needlework  ;  the  other,  if  I  remember 
right,  did  a  bit  of  washing.  Anyway,  these  two 
widows  came  to  the  Association  and  asked  to  see 
the  secretary.  They  told  him  that  they  each  had 
a  son,  and  that  these  boys  were  just  running  wild 
on  the  streets,  growing  anyhow.  They  wanted 
to  know  how  much  it  would  cost  to  buy  a  ticket  for 
the  boys  ;  each  of  them  having  made  up  her  mind 
that  if  the  scamps  could  only  get  into  the  Associa- 
tion it  would  be  all  right.  Well,  we  took  them  in. 
Some  rich  man,  if  I  remember,  paid  for  the  tickets. 
Those  boys,  sir,  were  wild.  They  were  fair  raga- 
muffins. But  they  took  to  the  gjrmnasium  Uke 
birds  ;  after  the  gymnasium  we  got  them  into  the 
educational  classes — we  teach  everything ;  and 
after  a  little  bit  we  moved  them  on  to  the  Bible 
class,  which  was  taken  by  the  physical  director. 
They  cottoned  right  away.  It  was  wonderful  to 
see  how  those  boys  changed.  Their  souls  were  just 
waiting  for  that  touch  !  Instead  of  devils  they 
became  angels.  Sweeter,  better  boys  never  chose 
the  straight  road.  They  were  Httle  men,  heroes, 
chivalrous  and  noble-minded  heroes.  And  they 
grew  up  to  be  first-rate  citizens.  One  of  them  is  with 
us  still.  We  sent  him  to  Chicago  to  study  medicine, 
to  fit  himself  for  the  work  of  physical  director — all 
our  physical  directors  have  to  pass  proper  medical 
examinations  ;  and  do  you  know,  that  boy,  who 
was  earning  thirty  dollars  a  month  at  the  time,  sent 
ten  dollars  every  month  to  his  mother  !  He  told  me 
that  his  one  square  table  d'hote  meal  used  to  cost 
him  fifteen  cents  a  day.    At  night  he  ate  a  bit  of 


222  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

bread.    He  was  a  man.    And  to-day  he's  one  of  our 
best  physical  directors — keen  as  fire. 

"  Just  take  hold  of  these  words — President 
Taft's  words — they'U  help  to  show  you  how  the 
Association  is  recognised  in  the  United  States  as  a 
force  in  the  national  life.  Oh,  why  isn't  it  like  that 
in  England  ?  It  ought  to  be  ;  my,  wouldn't  it  puU 
us  all  together  !  England,  America,  Canada,  Aus- 
tralia— say,  that's  a  big  concern  !  Well,  it  wiU 
come.  But  here's  what  President  Taft  has  to 
say: 

"  '  There  is  possibly  nothing  needed  worse  in 
aU  our  cities  and  towns  than  well-organised 
Young  Men's  Christian  Associations  which  shall 
stand  for  character  -  building  in  the  threefold 
way  in  which  the  Association  endeavours  to  do 
its  work. 

"  '  The  railroad  companies  find  it  to  their  pe- 
cuniary interest  to  erect  and  fit  up  expensive 
structures  for  the  rational,  physical,  intellectual,  and 
moral  amusement  and  entertainment  of  their  em- 
ployees on  each  division,  and  to  put  them  under  the 
control  of  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association. 
So  Congress  directed  that  permission  he  granted  to 
the  Association  to  establish  its  work  at  the  various 
posts  of  the  army,  and  officers  were  enjoined  to 
facilitate  the  efforts  of  the  Association  to  provide 
healthful,  physical,  intellectual,  and  nonsectarian 
religious  influences. 

"  '  President  Roosevelt  was  directed  by  law 
to  build  the  Panama  Canal  and  as  a  business 
proposition  one  of  the  first  things  he  did  was  to 
have  erected  four  buildings  for  the  Young  Men's 


THE    BIG    SCALE  223 

Christian  Association.  When  you  want  a  capital 
operation  performed  you  go  to  a  good  surgeon  ; 
when  you  want  a  lawsuit  carried  on  as  it  ought  to 
be  carried  on  you  go  to  a  good  lawyer ;  and  when 
you  want  a  means  of  keeping  a  population  occu- 
pied during  their  leisure  hours  with  rational 
amusement  of  a  high  moral  and  rehgious  tone 
you  go  to  those  gentlemen  who  have  had  ex- 
perience in  carrying  on  such  a  work  and  such  an 
institution.  It  cannot  be  learned  over-night.  It 
is  just  as  illogical  to  say  that  you  can  learn  it  over- 
night as  it  is  to  say  you  can  learn  self-government 
over-night.  You  cannot  do  it.  Therefore,  what 
we  did  was  to  apply  to  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association.' 

"  Perhaps  that's  news  to  you — about  the  railway 
companies  and  the  army  ?  But  it  ought  to  be  the 
same  over  here.  In  America  business  men  recognise 
that  the  moral  character  and  the  intellectual  effi- 
ciency of  the  men  they  employ  are  matters  of  pretty 
well  first-rate  importance  to  the  success  of  their 
undertakings.  And  so  they  build  the  great  clubs, 
provide  the  equipment,  and  then  come  along  to 
the  Association  for  the  men  to  run  them.  Why  ? 
Simply  because  we  are  recognised  as  experts  in  the 
making  of  men.  There's  no  one  else  doing  the  same 
job.  If  a  better  institution  came  along  we  should 
have  to  shift.  They're  not  in  love  with  us  simply 
because  we  call  ourselves  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association,  but  because  we  do  what  we  set  out  to 
do — which  is  to  manufacture  the  best  type  of  man 
known  to  civilisation.     Our  feUows  would  make 


224  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

about  as  useful  an  army  as  you'd  find  in  the  world  ; 
pretty  near  every  man  is  an  athlete,  pretty  near 
every  man  is  a  marksman,  pretty  near  every  man 
is  a  teetotaller,  and  every  man  Jack  of  them  is  a 
Christian  at  least  in  the  making.  Cromwell's  men 
were  stiff  stuff;  I  believe. our  fellows  are  as  good. 
Cromwell  hadn't  got  our  gymnasiums ! 

*'  In  Association  work  Canada  and  the  United 
States  are  one,  united  in  their  organisation  into  one 
International  Convention,  supervised  by  an  Inter- 
national Committee  whose  head-quarters  are  at 
New  York  with  an  office  also  at  Montreal  for  special 
supervision  of  the  Canadian  work. 

"  The  Canadians  are  every  bit  as  keen  as  the 
'  Yankees,'  and  their  work  is  going  ahead  at  a 
tremendous  pace. 

"  One  of  your  own  statesmen.  Earl  Grey,  during 
the  years  he  spent  in  Canada  as  Governor-General, 
observed  and  aided  this  movement.  Note  what  he 
has  to  say  about  it. 

"  Here  is  an  extract  from  the  Toronto  World : 

"  *  A  happy  incident  of  the  day  was  the  cordial 
interest  in  the  campaign  evinced  by  His  Excellency 
Earl  Grey,  who  arrived  at  head-quarters  at  1.15  p.m., 
being  received  with  tumultuous  applause.  He  said, 
in  part : 

*' '  "  I  happen  to  be  here  as  an  accident.  Like  every- 
body else,  I  was  reading  in  the  morning  newspaper, 
and  I  was  enthused  by  the  account  of  your  proceed- 
ings, and  thought  I  would  like  to  come  and  have  a 
look  at  the  Clock  to  see  what  it  would  indicate 
to-day." 

"  *  His  Excellency  recalled  the  occasion  of  a  few 


THE    BIG    SCALE  225 

years  ago  when  the  Y.M.C.A.  in  Ottawa  made  a 
similar  canvass.  It  was  just  at  the  time  of  the  great 
financial  stringency,  and  although  it  seemed  im- 
possible to  accomplish  the  object  which  they  had 
aimed  at,  they  succeeded  in  raising  the  splendid  sum 
of  $200,000.  By  comparison,  His  Excellency  felt 
quite  certain  that  Toronto  would  raise  the  $600,000. 
He  said  : 

"  *  "  I  find  myself  in  the  midst  of  this  great  company 
of  eager  enthusiasts,  who  are  all  very  anxious  that 
within  the  allotted  time  you  will  gain  the  goal  which 
you  are  aiming  at.  I  have  every  confidence  that  you 
will  succeed,  and  I  hope  you  will  succeed,  becaiise 
I  know  of  no  undertaking  which  is  fulfilling  to  greater 
satisfaction  one  of  the  most  pressing  needs  of  our  great 
cities. 

(t  t  (( There  is  no  man  for  whom  I  have  greater 
sympathy  than  the  young  man  of  business  who  is 
unable  to  afford  the  luxury  of  one  of  those  expensive 
clubs  where  he  can  obtain  recreation  in  his  leisure 
hours.  Unless  there  is  such  an  institution  as  the 
Y.M.C.A.  with  all  its  wealth  of  equipment  to  meet  his 
social  and  recreative  requirements,  society  is  asking 
him  to  live  his  fife  in  conditions  which  are  not  fair  to 
him.  You  are  trying  to  give  him  opportunities  for 
hving  a  healthy,  happy,  wholesome  and  delightful 
fife  in  the  city  of  Toronto,  and  I  heartily  wish  you, 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  the  full  measure  of 
success  for  all  your  endeavours,  and  wish  the  Y.M.C.A. 
of  Toronto,  and  the  new  buildings  for  which  you  are 
about  to  provide,  God-speed."  ' 

"  And  here  is  a  letter  I  have  only  just  received 
from  Lord  Grey,  which  will  show  you  how  he  feels 
about  our  present  move  over  here  : 


226  THE  ORDINARY    MAN 

"  *  HowiCK,  Lesbury, 

i 

" '  Northumberland, 
"  '  20th  December,  1911. 
"  '  Dear  Mr.  Ward, 

"  '  I  hear  you  are  endeavouring  to  raise  £100,000 
for  a  new  Y.M.C.A.  building  in  Tottenham  Court 
Road,  and  that  it  is  the  hope  of  the  members  of  the 
Y.M.CA.  of  London  to  make  the  Tottenham  Court 
Road  building  worthy  in  all  respects  of  the  parent 
institution  of  the  countless  branches  which  have  been 
estabhshed  all  over  the  world,  to  the  great  advantage 
of  all  concerned. 

"  '  My  experience  in  Canada  leads  me  to  beheve 
that  if  you  can  succeed  in  bringing  before  the  people 
of  London  the  great  advantages  resulting  from  the 
estabhshment  in  its  midst  of  Y.M.CA.'s  adequately 
equipped,  as  they  are  in  the  United  States  and  in 
Canada,  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  raising  the  sum 
of  £100,000  or  more  than  that  sum. 

"  '  In  Ottawa,  with  a  population  of  less  than  80,000, 
the  people  raised,  if  I  remember  rightly,  under  your 
guidance,  $200,000  in  a  two  weeks'  campaign,  at  a 
time  in  1907  when  there  was  a  greater  financial 
stringency  in  the  money  market  than  had  ever  been 
known  before  in  our  time  ;  and  in  Toronto,  with  a 
population  of  under  400,000,  the  sum  of  $800,000 
was  obtained  in  a  similar  fortnight's  campaign  during 
the  following  year. 

"'Although  the  institution  of  the  Y.M.C.A.  was 
originally  started  in  England,  my  impression  is  that  the 
people  of  Canada  can  offer  to  the  people  of  England  an 
example  in  the  Y.M.CA.'s,  which  are  now  estabhshed 
in  all  their  principal  cities,  which  the  people  of  England 
would  do  well  to  follow.  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  the  effect  of  the  Y.M.CA.'s  in  Canada 


THE    BIG    SCALE  227 

has  been  to  save  thousands  of  young  men  from  going 
to  the  devil. 

"  *  The  methods  you  used  in  Canada  were  original, 
but  most  effective.  They  should  produce  equally 
good  results  in  London. 

"  '  Yours  sincerely, 

*'  (Sgd.)  '  Grey.' 

"  I  should  like  you  to  see  some  of  our  buildings. 
We  don't  go  in  for  much  beauty  on  the  outside,  and 
it's  not  only  the  size  of  them  we  buck  about.  It's 
the  insides.  They're  bully  !  We  take  as  much  care 
with  the  insides  of  these  huge  blocks  as  a  manufac- 
turer with  his  factory.  The  rooms  for  the  classes  are 
aU  built  with  a  purpose,  and  fitted  up  just  perfectly. 
Our  gymnasiums  would  make  the  mouths  water 
of  London  clerks.  Then  we  have  running- tracks, 
swimming-baths,  rifle-ranges,  billiard-rooms,  smok- 
ing -  rooms,  libraries,  auditoriums  for  lectures — 
everything,  in  fact,  for  education,  physical  culture, 
mental  improvement,  and  spiritual  development. 

*'  One  of  our  secretaries  is  Fred  B.  Smith,  and  he's 
a  genius.  I  dare  say  you  know  that  he  is  the  leader 
of  the  Men  and  Religion  Forward  Movement — a 
movement  which  is  spreading  right  through  the 
whole  continent  of  America.  America  is  more  keen 
on  that  movement  than  anything  else.  It's  the 
biggest  thing  we've  got.  That  movement  has  five 
branches  :  (1)  Evangehstic,  (2)  Bible  Study,  (3) 
Social  Service,  (4)  Work  for  Boys,  and  (5)  Industrial. 
There  are  specialists,  real  experts,  for  every  one  of 
these  branches  in  ninety  principal  cities  at  the 
present  moment — ^real  experts,  mind  you  ;  and 
arrangements  are  now  being  made  for  a  thousand 


228  THE    ORDINARY   MAN 

cities  to  be  touched  in  one  season.  It's  as  big  a 
movement  as  we've  ever  had  in  the  States  ;  aU  the 
churches  are  in  it,  and  it's  puUing  the  whole  nation 
together.  That's  what  rehgion  does,  when  it's 
real. 

"  The  type  of  evangelism  has  changed.  The 
froth  is  off.  The  new  evangelism  teaches  steady 
work  and  sacrifice.  Revivalism  is  good  as  a  tonic, 
but  you  couldn't  live  on  tonic  alone.  It  was  the 
same  with  us  as  with  you  ;  a  revival  came — and 
went.  Plain  water  saw  it  out.  The  reaction 
didn't  do  good  to  anybody.  But  now  we've  got 
something  different.  We've  got  the  idea  of  an 
Awakening,  that's  like  a  man  quietly  getting  up 
to  do  a  long  day's  work.  You  can't  keep  kicking 
a  man  out  of  bed  without  hurting  him.  And 
there's  the  window — ^he  might  chuck  you  out ! 
This  movement  of  ours  is  organised  revivaHsm  with 
the  water  off  the  boil.  It's  a  nation  waking  up 
to  make  itself  Christian.  We  believe  that  you've 
got  to  take  just  as  much  trouble  to  make  a 
Christian  man  as  to  make  anything  else,  whether 
it's  a  prize-fighter  or  an  automobile.  We  think 
you  shouldn't  leave  the  making  of  a  Christian  man 
to  chance.  We  think  it  should  be  the  first  concern. 
And  that's  what  the  Men  and  Religion  Forward 
Movement  is  doing — feeding  the  Church  and  the 
Association  right  through  the  country.  No  more 
boiling  revivaUsm,  but  steady  work,  regular  work, 
persistent  and  organised  work — aU  the  time.  What 
for  ?  To  make  men.  To  make  men  by  educating 
them  along  the  three  great  lines — physical,  mental, 
and  spiritual.    We  think  we  can  do  it.    And  when 


THE    BIG    SCALE  229 

we  have  done  it  we  think  we  shall  be  a  pretty 
good  nation." 

Although  these  words,  when  written,  have  some- 
thing rather  hard  and  self-confident  about  them, 
I  can  assure  the  reader  that  they  were  entirely  with- 
out offence  when  uttered.  One  must  always 
remember  Sainte-Beuve's  lament  over  the  trans- 
formation from  uttered  to  printed  speech.  Paper 
cannot  smile.  "  The  objection,"  he  says,  "  has 
been  urged  against  Collections  of  Thoughts^  that 
when  they  are  not  commonplace  they  often  appear 
pretentious  ;  yet  the  same  things  would  have 
struck  us  far  otherwise,  if  we  had  heard  them  said. 
The  smile  and  accent  of  the  speaker  would  have 
won  them  acceptance  ;  but  fix  them  upon  paper 
and  it  is  quite  another  thing.    Paper  is  brutish." 

The  speaker  in  this  case  is  a  man  of  middle 
age — quiet,  modest,  and  both  in  appearance  and 
manner  entirely  without  the  vigour  of  strenuosity. 
He  has  a  peculiarly  low  voice,  so  that  it  is  often 
hard  to  catch  the  end  of  his  sentences.  He  speaks 
with  an  engaging  smile,  as  gentle  as  a  woman's. 
When  he  makes  what  may  seem  a  boast,  he  looks 
at  one  with  a  pleasant  apology  in  his  eyes,  as  if  to 
say,  "  Of  course  you  understand  ;  we're  not  talking 
algebra,  are  we  ?  " 

But  in  spite  of  his  subdued  manner  and  quiet 
voice,  it  is  impossible  to  be  long  in  his  company 
before  reahsing  that  he  is  a  man  of  power.  His 
position  in  America  has  been  earned  by  sohd 
achievement.  He  impresses  one  with  the  force  of 
a  resolute  character  perfectly  in  hand  and  subdued 
because  it  is  enduring. 


230  THE    ORDINARY   MAN 

And  penetrate  beyond  the  faculty  for  organisa- 
tion, and  the  grasp  and  power  and  vision  which 
make  him  so  great  an  energy  in  the  Young  Men's 
Christian  Association  of  America,  and  you  find  that 
he  has  in  his  heart  the  steady  faith  of  a  convinced 
and  reahstic  Christian.    He  knows  hfe. 

With  him,  as  with  the  Founder  of  the  Association 
in  England,  "  first  things  come  first."  He  has 
but  one  foundation  for  his  hfe.  To  him,  mercifully 
early  in  his  experience,  it  came  home  that  without 
the  Ideal  of  Christ  he  could  do  nothing,  and  in 
all  his  work  it  is  for  the  victory  and  unchallenged 
supremacy  of  Christ  that  he  is  striving,  heart, 
brain,  and  soul. 

But  there  are  men  who,  insisting  that  first  things 
should  come  first,  take  no  steps  to  perfect  second 
and  third  things.  They  rest  with  the  first.  "  Make 
a  man  a  Christian,"  they  say,  "  and  you  have  done 
aU  that  can  be  done  for  him."  It  sounds  true,  and 
it  is  true.  But  their  definition  of  a  Christian,  how- 
ever completely  it  may  square  with  all  the  doctrines 
of  all  the  theologians,  would  not  perhaps  find  favour 
with  nature.  The  laws  of  God,  which  are  of  more 
importance  than  the  laws  of  churches,  demand  in 
men  strength  of  body  and  power  of  mind.  Nature 
is  pitiless  to  the  weak,  whether  they  be  Christians, 
pagans,  or  materiafists.  And  civiUsation  is  more 
merciless  than  nature. 

The  man  of  whom  I  write  smiles  sadly  at  the 
notion  that  a  Bible  class  and  a  bagatelle-table  provide 
aU  the  essentials  for  Christian  manhood.  The  Bible 
is  the  first  thing,  and  he  places  it  first ;  but  for  the 
Bible's  sake  as  well  as  the  man's  whom  he  essays 


THE    BIG    SCALE  231 

to  teach  the  beauty  and  the  power  and  the  glory  of 
that  book,  he  would  make  the  student  strong  in 
body  and  vigorous  in  mind.  He  says  that  nature 
is  apt  to  flatten  out  the  man  with  no  muscles,  and 
that  civilisation  jumps  on  him  when  he's  down. 
He  thinks  that  man  is  in  the  making,  and  the  perfect 
man  he  holds  to  be  the  Christian  man  who  is  truly 
a  Christian  and  as  truly  a  man. 

And  his  vision  sees  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  whom 
God — if  any  man  believes  in  God — has  so  mani- 
festly blessed  and  prospered  in  spite  of  many  sins 
and  innumerable  follies  ;  his  vision  sees  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  united  in  the  common  Ideal  of  Christ, 
one  in  the  sacred  bonds  of  a  religious  brotherhood, 
working  throughout  the  whole  world  for  peace  and 
knowledge  and  kindness — ^and  leading  aU  the 
nations  of  the  earth  to  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

"  I  don't  want  to  interfere,"  he  says,  "  with  your 
own  way  of  doing  things  ;  but  I  should  Hke  England 
to  realise  that  in  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Associa- 
tion there  exists  the  finest  channel  ever  invented 
for  a  real  brotherhood  with  America,  if  that  is  one 
of  her  ambitions.  And  the  way,  if  I  may  suggest 
it,  for  the  Association  over  here  to  take  its  proper 
place  in  the  national  life  of  England  is  the  same 
way  that  we  have  gone  in  America.  First  the 
aU-round  development  of  men — body,  soul,  and 
spirit ;  second,  the  multiplication  all  over  the 
country  of  such  buildings  as  you  now  have  in 
Tottenham  Court  Road  ;  and  third,  the  active, 
enthusiastic,  and  lavish  support  of  your  great 
merchants  and  men  of  business.  There's  Puritan 
blood  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic,  and  it  ought 


232  THE    ORDINARY   MAN 

to  have  pretty  much  the  same  pulse-beats.  Our 
rich  men,  yes,  and  our  Government,  are  workers 
for  the  Association  ;  you  ought  to  have  it  Uke  that 
over  here.  If  we  could  only  puU  together  !  I  want 
to  see  your  railway  companies,  and  your  army  and 
navy,  and  your  great  trading-houses  working  with 
the  Association  for  Christian  manhood.  And  I 
want  to  hear  your  King  say  what  President  Taft  has 
said :  '  The  Young  Meri's  Christian  Association  has 
come  to  he  recognised  as  a  powerful  and  necessary 
factor f  both  in  business  and  government  matters,^  WiU 
it  ever  come  to  that  over  here,  do  you  think  ?  Well, 
it  will  be  as  big  as  Waterloo  when  it  does — for  that 
means  the  Anglo-Saxon  Brotherhood  of  God." 

He  placed  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  drew  out 
a  letter.  "  You  might  care,"  he  said,  "  to  read 
what  President  Taft  says  on  the  subject.  I  received 
this  letter  only  the  other  day,  written  just  after  I 
had  left  America."  He  handed  me  the  following 
document : 

"  The  White  House,  Washington, 

''November  13th,  1911. 
"My  dear  Mr.  Ward, 

"  I  regret  that  I  was  unable,  before  your  depar- 
ture for  London,  to  assist  in  dedicating  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association  Memorial  Building  at 
that  city,  to  express  to  you  the  interest  which  I  take 
in  the  work  of  this  efficient  organisation.  The  value 
of  its  instrumentality  in  the  promotion  of  good  morals 
and  in  furnishing  wholesome  associations  and  health- 
ful occupation  for  young  men  during  their  leisure 
hours  has  been  practically  demonstrated  in  the  Canal 
Zone,  where  great  benefit  has  been  derived  by  the 


THE    BIG    SCALE  233 

Government  from   the  maintenance   of  club-houses 
placed  under  the  management  of  the  Association. 

"  No  less  valuable  in  the  direction  of  morality, 
health  and  efficiency  has  proved  its  work  among  the 
enlisted  men  of  the  Army  and  Navy  of  the  United 
States.  It  is  a  potent  factor  in  the  preservation  of 
the  peace  of  the  world,  and  it  deserves  the  approval 
of  everyone  having  the  best  good  of  the  world  at 
heart. 

"The  prosperity  of  the  parent  association  at  the 
capital  of  the  British  Empire  is  thus  a  matter  of 
world  interest,  and  my  best  wishes  go  with  all  who 
work  to  promote  that  prosperity. 

"Sincerely  yours, 

"Wm.  H.  Tapt." 

He  smiled  as  I  looked  up  from  my  reading. 
"  President  Taft  and  ex-President  Roosevelt  have 
spoken,"  he  said  quietly  ;  "  I  guess  it's  now  the 
turn  of  King  George  and  his  ministers.  Wasn't  it, 
by  the  way.  King  George  who  said  Wake  up, 
England  ?    Ah,  I  thought  so.    Well,  let's  hope  !  " 


CHAPTER    XIII 
RANK  AND   FILE 

A  YOUNG  man  entered  the  room  in  which  I 
-^^  was  sitting  one  night  at  the  Aldersgate  Street 
branch  of  the  Association.  He  was  in  a  hurry,  and 
could  spare  me  only  two  minutes.  He  entered  with  a 
billycock  hat  on  his  head,  which  he  did  not  remove  ; 
he  wore  a  brown  mackintosh  buttoned  to  the  chin. 
In  height  he  was  nearly  six  feet.  His  shoulders  were 
broad,  his  chest  deep,  and  he  held  himself  soldier- 
fashion — the  head  thrown  back,  the  neck  rigid, 
the  body  straight  and  oppugnant.  I  imagined  his 
age  to  be  three-  or  four-and-twenty. 

He  was  black-haired,  with  one  of  those  rosy  faces 
which  sometimes  give  to  dark  people  a  fresher  and 
cleanher  appearance  than  belcfngs  to  the  fair. 
His  eyebrows  were  clearly  defined ;  the  lashes 
thick,  but  short ;  the  upper  Hp  was  marked  by  a 
small  moustache. 

He  had  a  curious  trick  of  speaking.  The  teeth 
appeared  to  be  tight  -  closed,  the  lips  moved  im- 
willingly,  as  it  were,  and  with  a  threat,  the  chin 
projected  a  httle ;  he  regarded  one  with  the  look  of  a 
boxer  weU  on  his  guard  and  ready  to  let  in  a  sudden 
and  crashing  blow.  His  words  issued  with  the  note 
of  challenge. 

234 


RANK    AND    FILE  235 

That  such  a  man  might  have  derived  benefit  from 
the  sports  and  games  of  the  Association  was  palpable 
enough,  but  that  he  had  felt  in  his  soul  the  magic 
of  religion,  even  obscurely,  seemed  to  me  at  the 
first  glance  extremely  problematical.  And  yet  this 
young  Achilles  said  something  which  haunts  me 
yet,  the  impression  of  which  will  probably  never 
fade  from  my  mind. 

He  explained  that  he  was  going  to  take  the  chair 
at  a  religious  meeting  some  distance  away,  and  was 
already  late.  He  could  not  possibly  delay  more  than 
two  minutes.    I  think  he  remained  for  five. 

His  work,  he  told  me,  was  in  one  of  the  large 
warehouses  of  London.  The  majority  of  his  fellow- 
clerks  were  absolutely  indifferent  to  religion.  There 
was  no  more  immorality  or  looseness  among  them 
than  is  common  in  a  great  city,  but  they  appeared 
to  be  wholly  dead  to  the  appeal  of  religion.  "  They 
don't  think  about  it ;  they  leave  it  alone,"  he  said 
through  his  closed  teeth,  bitterly,  and  with  a 
movement  of  his  head  which  implied  an  equal 
amount  of  contempt  and  pity. 

I  inquired  if  he  was  chaffed  or  ragged  by  these 
men.  "  Not  more  than  I  can  endure  ;  they  know 
when  to  stop,"  he  said  rather  grimly,  a  fight 
flashing  into  his  dark  eyes. 

"  You  go  in  for  athletics  ?  " 

"  I  scull  every  Saturday  afternoon  on  the 
Thames." 

"  You  don't  find  it  hard  to  bear — the  chafiing  and 
ragging  ?  " 

"  There's  good  in  all  of  them,  even  the  worst ;  I 
try  to  get  at  that.     Three  or  four  of  us  hold  prayer 


236  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

meetings  and  classes  for  the  study  of  the  Bible, 
We  try  to  persuade  the  others  to  join  us." 

"  And  you  don't  despair  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't  despair,"  he  said.  And  then  the 
colour  in  his  cheeks  seemed  to  deepen,  he  looked  at 
me  with  an  added  defiance,  and  through  his  closed 
teeth  he  said,  with  an  increased  challenge  in  the 
voice — "  Pve  been  wonderfully  strengthened  of  late — 
feeding  on  the  Word  of  Gody  He  stood  before  me, 
with  all  the  sense  of  restrained  movement  which  one 
feels  in  a  man  anxious  to  be  gone,  and  added,  with  a 
jerk  of  his  head,  "  Yes,  Fve  been  feeding  on  the  Word 
of  God:' 

Such  words  have  often  been  addressed  to  me 
by  old  people,  by  dear  old  cottage  women,  and  by 
grey-haired  patriarchs  of  the  fields  ;  I  have  heard 
them  and  hked  them,  and  looked  at  the  old  people 
who  uttered  them  with  a  tenderness  and  an  appre- 
ciation which  in  reality,  perhaps,  were  nothing 
less  pitiable  than  a  mere  intellectual  indulgence — 
such  as  a  father  may  show  towards  the  first  poems 
of  his  children  or  their  earhest  crude  drawings  of 
Christ  and  the  Crucifixion.  But  when  this  young 
man  uttered  the  words,  "  I've  been  feeding  on  the 
Word  of  God,"  something  in  them  jarred  upon  my 
mind  ;  I  was  distressed  ;  I  wished  he  had  expressed 
the  same  thought  as  I  myself  might  have  expressed 
it.    They  seemed  to  me  to  ring  false,  unreal,  artificial. 

But  they  remained  in  my  mind.  They  haunted 
me.  The  young  man  rose  up  again  and  again 
before  my  mental  vision,  tall,  straight,  powerful, 
the  very  picture  of  a  formidable  athlete  ;  and  again 
and  again,  through  his  clenched  teeth,  with  that 


RANK    AND    FILE  237 

strange  ringing  note  of  an  almost  angry  defiance 
came  the  words,  ''  Fve  been  wonderfully  strengthened 
of  late — feeding  on  the  Word  of  God.  Yes^  Fve  been 
feeding  on  the  Word  of  God,^^ 

They  haunted  me,  till  they  grew  famihar.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  had  heard  them  before,  many 
years  ago,  and  uttered  by  some  similar  man  in  the 
midst  of  London.  Then  it  came  home  to  me  that  I 
associated  this  young  warehouseman  with  Matthew 
Arnold.  I  thought.  In  a  moment  there  flashed  back 
to  my  remembrance  a  certain  sonnet.  When  I 
returned  to  my  home  I  took  down  from  the  shelves 
the  green  book  of  Matthew  Arnold's  poems,  and 
turned  to  the  sonnet  (not  by  any  means  a  good 
or  memorable  sonnet)  called  East  London.  Almost 
the  identical  thought  was  there  : 

'Twas  August,  and  the  fierce  sun  overhead 
Smote  on  the  squalid  streets  of  Bethnal  Green, 
And  the  pale  weaver,  through  his  windows  seen 
In  Spitalfields,  look'd  thrice  dispirited. 

I  met  a  preacher  there  I  knew,  and  said  : 

"  111  and  o'erwork'd  how  fare  you  in  this  scene  ?  " — 

"  Bravely  ! "  said  he  ;  for  I  of  late  have  been 

Much  cheer'd  with  thoughts  of  Christ,  the  living  bread.'' 

This  faith  Matthew  Arnold  caUed  "  a  mark  of  ever- 
lasting light  "  set  up  "  above  the  howling  senses' 
ebb  and  flow." 

The  wonder  of  the  words  came  home  to  me,  the 
wonder  and  the  romance.  The  young  and  vigorous 
warehouseman  finds  in  the  midst  of  a  difficult  and 
disheartening  life  strength  sufficient  for  his  needs 
from  the  Word  of  God  ;  and  the  refined  and  educated 
clergyman  in  Bethnal  Green,  ill  and  overworked, 
found  sufficient  strength  in  Christ  the  living  bread 


238  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

for  his  hard  and  heart-breaking  life.  And  in  each 
case,  when  we  penetrate  below  the  form  of  words — 
always  reminding  ourselves  that  words  are  but  the 
human  invention  of  symbolism  to  express  other 
things — we  find  that  the  mystery  conducts  us 
through  the  travail  of  the  soul  to  the  Presence 
and  Companionship  of  Christ.  Does  not  that 
thought  strike  on  the  mind  arrestingly  ?  Think 
for  a  moment  what  it  really  means — the  fact  of 
Christ's  Presence  in  the  hearts  of  toihng  men. 

In  a  London  warehouse,  a  young  man,  strong  and 
hardy  above  the  average — who  sculls  every  Saturday 
afternoon  upon  the  Thames — finds  in  reading  a  book 
which  relates  the  most  important  chapters  in  the 
rise  of  humanity  from  superstition  and  magic  to  a 
pure  belief  in  One  God,  and  which  further  declares 
the  revelation  made  to  a  risen  humanity  by  this 
One  God  in  the  Person  of  Jesus  Christ,  Light  of  the 
World  and  Saviour  of  Mankind — a  strength  for 
his  soul  which  nothing  else  can  give.  For  years  he 
has  been  active  in  religious  work,  for  years  he  has 
prayed  night  and  morning  with  a  complete  faith  ; 
but  the  real  strength  has  come  to  him  recently 
from  reading  this  single  book,  this  Bible,  this  Word 
of  God.  And  he  tells  you  so,  with  a  defiance  which 
endeavours  to  express  the  immense  certainty  of  his 
soul.  Christ  is  real  to  this  man.  He  could  not 
imagine  his  drab  life  without  Christ.  The  Bible  is 
his  strength.  It  is  a  thought,  if  you  reflect  upon  it, 
which  helps  the  mind  to  realise  something  of  the 
romance  of  London,  something  of  the  unique  power 
of  the  Bible,  and  something  of  the  great  mystery 
which  overshadows  human  Hfe. 


RANK    AND    FILE  239 

I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  forget  the  impression 
made  upon  my  mind  by  these  words,  and  when  I 
hear  them  on  the  lips  of  almost  inarticulate  peasants 
I  shall  understand  their  significance. 

When  the  young  athlete  had  gone,  another  and 
a  quite  different  man  entered  the  room.  He  was 
shy,  timid,  strange.  Three  or  four  years  older 
than  the  athlete,  he  yet  appeared,  because  of  his 
extraordinary  gentleness,  much  younger,  and  almost 
childlike.  Few  faces  have  I  seen  more  strangely 
beautiful,  few  voices  have  I  heard  more  low  and 
mysterious.  He  brought  into  the  room  with  him 
the  sanctity  and  hoHness  of  a  mystic's  cell. 

He  was  of  middle  height,  with  a  weak  body  on 
which  the  thin  clothes  hung  loosely  and  as  it  were 
pathetically.  The  long  narrow  hands  were  held 
in  front  of  him,  the  fingers  slowly  fidgeting  with  the 
ends  of  the  sleeves,  which  were  worn  and  frayed. 
The  head  was  large,  too  large  for  the  body,  but 
perfectly  shaped.  Thick  and  shining  dark  brown 
hair  framed  a  fair  face  that  was  flushed  and  almost 
feverish.  The  nostrils  expressed  the  utmost  sensi- 
bility ;  the  mouth  was  gentle  and  refined — a  Httle 
weak  and  yielding,  perhaps  ;  the  very  large  and 
briUiant  dark  eyes  possessed  beneath  their  surface 
light  of  almost  startled  timidity,  unfathomable 
depths  of  serenity.  The  whole  character  of  the 
man's  soul  showed  itself  in  a  general  air  of  shrinking 
and  affrighted  modesty. 

In  a  voice  very  low  and  musical,  speaking  with 
long  pauses  between  each  sentence,  and  with  the 
deep   ring  and  subdued  gentleness  of  the   Welsh 


240  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

in  his  intonation,  never  once  raising  his  voice,  he 
talked  to  me  of  his  experience  in  London.  He  said  : 
"  I  was  somewhat  prepared  for  what  I  had  to 
undergo  by  my  experience  at  home.  When  I  left 
school  I  was  apprenticed  to  a  draper  in  my  native 
town.  It  was  terrible  to  me  at  first.  I  think  it  was 
the  first  shock  I  had  ever  suffered.  Before  that  time 
Hfe  had  seemed  to  me  very  beautiful.  I  loved  my 
home — my  father,  my  mother,  my  brothers  and 
sisters.  Then  the  fields  and  the  mountains  and  the 
rivers  were  very  beautiful.  I  used  to  go  out  alone. 
I  love  the  country.  In  the  country  you  can  be  quite 
alone.  And  where  I  Hved  it  is  very  beautiful — 
mountains,  rivers,  and  wild  flowers  in  the  field. 

"  I  did  not  Hke  school  very  much.  I  am  not  clever. 
I  did  not  get  on  as  quickly  as  the  others.  But  I 
did  not  mind  school.  I  was  Uving  at  home,  and  there 
were  hours  of  freedom  ;  I  could  go  out  into  the 
country  alone.  But  when  I  went  to  business,  and 
was  kept  in  aU  day,  and  had  to  hve  with  other 
people  who  were  strangers  to  me — I  was  terribly 
unhappy.  It  seemed  to  me  that  life  had  altogether 
changed ;  that  the  beautiful  part  was  over  and 
would  never  return. 

"  So  I  was  prepared  for  London.  I  did  not  expect 
to  be  happy.  I  knew  it  would  be  worse,  worse  even 
than  the  shop  in  my  native  town.  And  I  was  so  sorry 
to  leave  my  father  and  mother,  and  my  sisters,  and 
the  country.  But  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  get  on. 
My  brothers  had  gone  to  AustraHa.  They  are  doing 
very  well  there  ;  they  want  me  to  join  them  ;  and 
I  think  it  would  be  happier  there ;  perhaps  I  shall  go ; 
I  am  thinking  about  it." 


RANK    AND    FILE  241 

I  asked  him  if  Christianity  had  made  any  real 
entrance  into  his  Hfe  during  his  youth.  He  told  me 
that  rehgion  had  been  real  to  him  from  childhood. 
The  beginning  of  his  illumination  came  while  he 
was  at  Sunday-school.  He  felt  in  his  soul  the  im- 
mense mystery  and  the  overwhelming  truth  of  the 
Christ's  experience  on  earth.  It  was  tremendously 
real  to  him.  In  youth  he  joined  the  Christian 
Endeavour  and  sought  to  make  others  feel  what 
was  so  intensely  real  to  him. 

"  And  in  London,"  I  said,  "  what  were  your  first 
feehngs  ?  " 

*'  I  was  stunned,"  he  said  quietly,  with  a  sad 
smile.  "  It  was  not  a  shock,  Uke  the  experience  in 
my  native  town  ;  but  it  was  bewildering.  I  felt  lost. 
Oh,  it  was  dreadful !  The  bedroom  in  the  warehouse 
was  horrible.  It  was  Hke  a  stable.  There  was  no 
carpet ;  and  so  dark  ;  with  the  beds  aU  close  to- 
gether, and  they  were  grimy.  There  was  no  sitting- 
room.  We  slept  in  the  dark  cold  bedroom,  and  that 
was  all  the  place  we  had  for  our  leisure.  The  con- 
versation was  dreadful.  The  men  seemed  to  wish  to 
make  themselves  out  worse  and  more  horrible  than 
they  were.  It  was  an  atmosphere  of  moral  degenera- 
tion. They  talked  of  dreadful  things.  They  mocked 
at  rehgion.  And  it  is  Uke  that  stiU.  They  do  not 
seem  as  if  they  can  understand  what  is  beautiful." 

I  asked  what  they  talk  about. 

"  Of  betting  and  drink  " — ^he  paused,  and  in  a 
lower  voice  he  added — "and  women."  Something 
more  than  the  exquisite  sensibihty  of  a  refined 
mind  sounded  in  that  last  word  ;  it  was  the  chastity 
and  the  chivalry  of  a  perfectly  pure  soul. 


242  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

"  Tell  me,"  I  asked,  "  do  you  say  your  prayers 
in  the  dormitory  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  the  others  molest  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  httle  bit  scoffed  at,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  but  I  think  I  am  admired  for  my  consistency. 
If  I  did  not  Hve  the  Christian  hfe,  as  well  as  I  can, 
they  would  be  cruel  to  me.  But  they  know  it  is  real 
to  me.  They  cannot  understand  it,  but  they  seem 
to  know  it  is  real  to  me.  And  I  never  answer  when 
they  mock  me.  I  do  not  reproach  them.  I  only 
speak  about  religion  when  they  ask  me." 

"  How  many  men  share  your  hfe  in  the  ware- 
house ?  " 

"  There  are  two  or  three  Christians  out  of  a 
hundred."  For  the  first  time  he  hurried  in  his 
speech.  "  But,"  he  added  eagerly,  "all  of  them 
have  good  traits.  There  is  not  one  who  is  altogether 
bad.  I  have  learned  to  know  how  much  goodness 
there  is  in  men,  even  those  who  seem  bad.  There  is 
always  something  good  in  their  hearts,  though  they 
may  seem  to  hide  it.  Not  aU  who  go  to  church  are 
Christians,  and  not  all  who  stay  away  from  church 
are  not  Christian.  I  noticed  this  about  them  : 
when  I  first  came  they  held  aloof  from  me  for  some 
months  ;  I  thought  it  was  cruelty  ;  I  thought  they 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  me  because  I  read 
my  Bible  and  said  my  prayers  ;  but  I  see  now  they 
were  watching  my  hfe  to  see  if  I  was  genuine.  And 
now  they  do  not  hold  aloof.  They  are  never  cruel. 
Even  the  worst  of  chaps  admire  genuineness." 

"  Those  first  months  must  have  been  hard  for  you." 

"  I  don't  know  what  would  have  happened  to  me 


RANK    AND    FILE  243 

in  London  but  for  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association.  At  first,  before  I  knew  my  way  about, 
I  used  to  go  to  the  churches  on  Sunday.  Oh,  but  I 
felt  myself  so  lost,  so  friendless  in  those  big  London 
churches  !  They  are  so  cold.  Nobody  speaks  to 
3^ou.  Nobody  seems  kind.  I  think  I  was  terribly 
miserable  in  those  churches.  But  when  I  was 
introduced  to  the  Association,  I  found  people  who 
were  warm-hearted  and  kind,  and  seemed  glad  to 
see  me.  And  they  gave  me  chances  to  work.  I  was 
happy  when  I  could  do  something  to  help  other 
people. 

"Another  thing  about  the  Association — you  can 
get  solitude  there.  In  rooms,  which  are  set  apart 
for  study,  you  can  go  and  be  alone  with  yourself. 
I  think  my  first  feeling  when  I  came  to  London 
was  the  fear  that  I  should  never  have  solitude.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  in  London  you  couldn't  get 
alone  with  yourself.  That  was  terrible.  In  the 
dormitory  and  in  the  warehouse  there  were  always 
many  people  ;  and  when  you  went  out  into  the 
streets  there  were  crowds  and  crowds.  Oh,  how 
often  I  longed  for  the  mountains  and  the  rivers  ! 
I  wanted  the  country.  I  wanted  to  get  away  and 
be  alone  with  myself,  so  that  I  might  think." 

He  told  me  that  next  to  the  pleasure  he  derived 
from  working  actively  for  religion  through  the 
Association,  he  most  appreciated  this  great  blessing 
of  solitude  which  the  Association  made  possible 
for  his  soul.  He  impressed  upon  me  the  idea  of  a 
veritable  hunger  after  lonehness  which  eats  away 
the  heart  of  certain  men  condenoned  to  five  a 
barrack  fife  in  London.    Hitherto  I  had  regarded  the 


244  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

Association  as  a  great  central  escape  from  solitude 
and  isolation  ;  now  it  was  revealed  to  me  as  an 
oasis  of  silence  and  retreat  in  the  midst  of  mul- 
titudinous obsession. 

As  I  took  leave  of  this  remarkable  man  I  asked 
him  :  "  Is  it  difficult  to  Hve  a  mystic's  life  in 
London  ?  " 

He  smiled.    "  It  is  not  always  easy,"  he  said  softly. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  visions  or  heard  voices  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

'*  Not  even  in  the  country  ?  " 

"  They  are  nearer  there,  I  think.  If  I  could  live 
always  in  the  country  I  should  be  happy.  But 
one  has  to  work.  My  brothers  teU  me  that  in 
Austraha  it  is  very  beautiful." 

So  we  parted.  As  we  shook  hands,  and  he  looked 
at  me  with  his  large  and  timid  eyes,  I  thought  of 
Gray  who  suffered  so  frightfully  at  school  and  at 
Cambridge,  of  SheUey  who  shrank  with  horror 
from  the  coarse  contact  of  the  world,  and  of  all 
other  dehcate  and  tender  natures  for  whom  the 
pressure  of  the  multitude  is  a  torment.  How  dread- 
ful for  such  a  man  'to  live  his  life  in  a  London 
warehouse  ! 

A  third  man  with  whom  I  made  acquaintance 
was  as  different  from  the  other  two  as  they  were 
different  from  each  other.  He  was  a  Uttle  fellow, 
wearing  spectacles,  and  pale  with  the  paUor  of 
London's  second  or  third  generation.  I  should  say 
he  was  typical  of  the  suburbs. 

There  are  many  young  men  in  London,  physically 
feeble  and  inteUectuaUy  poor,  who  yet  convey  to 


RANK    AND    FILE  245 

one,  and  quite  quietly,  a  sense  of  self-assurance  and 
a  resourcefulness  of  self-dependence  which  convince 
one  of  complete  efficiency.  They  seem  as  if  they 
too — ^these  pale-faced,  thin-bodied,  and  stunted 
weakhngs — could  go  anywhere  and  do  anything. 

Such  was  the  man  who  told  me  the  following 
story. 

"  My  home  was  perfectly  moral,  but  there  was  no 
rehgion.  My  parents  never  went  to  church  and  never 
showed  any  interest  in  religion.  But  my  mother 
appeared  to  think  it  was  among  the  respectabiHties 
for  her  children  to  go  to  church  services,  and  so  we 
were  sent  every  Sunday,  and  in  the  afternoon  we 
attended  Sunday-school.  If  I  got  any  good  from  all 
this  it  must  have  been  subconscious.  I  was  not 
aware  that  it  made  the  sHghtest  difference  to  my 
life.  When  I  grew  up  and  went  out  as  a  clerk 
I  soon  dropped  going  to  church.  To  put  it  in  a 
common  phrase,  I  was  sick  of  the  whole  business. 
I  don't  mean  that  I  was  sick  of  religion.  I  really 
hadn't  thought  about  that ;  it  didn't  live  in  my  Hfe. 
All  I  was  sick  of  was  going  to  church. 

"  I  lived  a  pretty  ordinary  life  for  a  few  years. 

"  Then,  one  summer,  I  went  for  my  hoHdays  to 
Broadstairs.  I  stayed  at  a  boarding-house  which 
a  feUow-clerk  had  recommended.  It  was  there  that 
the  change  began  in  my  life.  Among  the  guests 
was  a  lady  who  was  deeply  rehgious.  One  day  the 
guests  organised  a  picnic,  and  at  this  picnic,  some- 
how or  another,  conversation  turned  on  atheism. 
Several  of  the  people  said  they  didn't  beheve  in 
anything,  and  nearly  everybody  seemed  to  agree 
that  going  to  church  was  only  a  farce.     The  lady 


246  THE   ORDINARY   MAN 

did  not  make  a  remark,  so  far  as  I  remember,  during 
this  discussion  ;  but  afterwards,  as  we  were  standing 
about  ready  to  go  home,  she  came  to  me  and  said, 
*  I  hope  you  don't  share  the  views  we  have  just 
heard.'  I  was  taken  aback.  I  think  I  smiled. 
I  said,  '  I  don't  know.' 

"  From  that  time  we  became  friends.  She  gave 
me  quite  a  different  attitude  towards  rehgion, 
but  I  don't  think  she  gave  me  rehgion  itself.  I  saw 
that  it  was  something  much  more  real  than  I  had 
thought  it  to  be  ;  and  I  also  felt  deeply  that  it  was 
ever  so  much  more  interesting  than  I  had  imagined. 
Although  I  feel  that  I  owe  everything  to  that  lady, 
who  is  now  one  of  my  closest  and  most  honoured 
friends,  I  cannot  say  that  she  herself  gave  me  the 
new  birth  of  the  religious  life. 

"  When  I  got  back  to  London  I  began  going  to 
church.  I  joined  the  church  club — but  that  did  me 
more  harm  than  good.  I  don't  want  to  say  anything 
unkind  about  those  particular  clergymen,  for  it  was 
really  not  their  fault,  but  that  club  was  really  a  very 
low  place.  Gambling  was  general,  men  drank 
just  as  much  as  if  they  were  in  a  pubhc-house,  and 
the  language  was  about  as  low  as  anyone  can 
imagine.  Of  course,  when  one  of  the  clergy  came  in, 
all  was  in  due  order  ;  but  no  sooner  was  his  back 
turned  than  things  became  as  bad  as  before,  rather 
worse,  as  if  to  show  that  the  members  didn't  care  ! 
I  was  tremendously  fond  of  chess,  and  used  to  play 
every  night  from  seven  till  eleven.  It  exhausted  me 
mentally,  and  did  me  harm  spiritually,  by  absorbing 
all  my  attention. 

"  Then  I  began  to  read  the  Bible.    I  started  at  the 


RANK    AND    FILE  247 

beginning  and  determined  to  read  it  right  through, 
in  the  hope  of  finding  out  what  I  really  did  believe 
and,  if  possible,  what  I  ought  to  believe.  It  took 
me  a  whole  year,  and  I  was  no  wiser  at  the  end. 

"  One  day  a  friend  of  mine  suggested  that  I  should 
join  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association.  He 
spoke  about  the  opportunities  it  gave  one  for  work. 
I  wasn't  very  keen,  and  said  I  would  think  about  it. 
He  said  that  a  man  couldn't  understand  religion 
till  he  began  to  Hve  the  life. 

"  I  saw  a  book  one  day  that  attracted  my  atten- 
tion. It  was  called  Conversations  with  Christ, 
I  got  hold  of  it  and  took  it  home  to  read.  I  was 
reading  it  in  my  lodgings  one  evening  when  the 
application  form  for  membership  in  the  Association 
arrived  by  post.  When  I  had  glanced  through  it, 
I  went  on  reading  the  book,  holding  the  form  in  my 
hand. 

"  I  came  to  the  conversation  with  the  lawyer 
who  asked  Christ,  '  Master,  what  shall  I  do  to  inherit 
eternal  life  ? '  When  I  got  to  the  words,  '  This  do, 
and  thou  shall  live,''  I  felt,  aU  of  a  sudden,  just  as  if 
they  were  spoken  to  me.  It  was  an  unmistakable 
feehng.  It  was  something  I  had  never  experienced 
before.  And  the  feehng  came  with  the  words  This 
do  before  I  finished  the  sentence.  It  was  as  if  they 
were  spoken  to  me,  with  an  extraordinary  emphasis. 
This  Do  !  And  I  can't  teU  you  why,  but  I  instantly 
connected  the  injunction,  which  I  felt  to  be  un- 
mistakably real  and  unmistakably  personal,  with 
the  application  form  which  I  was  holding  in  my 
hand.  There  and  then  I  filled  it  up,  signed  my 
name,  and  sent  it  off  by  the  midnight  post. 


248  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

"  I  felt  that  the  command  This  Do  did  not  refer 
simply  to  the  Young  Men's  Christian  Association, 
but  to  the  work  which  I  had  been  told  was  waiting 
there  for  me  to  do.  I  took  it  at  once  to  be  a  message 
to  work. 

"  I  do  not  call  this  experience  my  conversion. 
I  joined  the  Association,  I  took  up  work,  and  I  en- 
joyed doing  it ;  but  my  conversion  came  later. 
It  really  came  to  me  through  the  reading  of  a  book 
called  Spiritiuil  Blessings.  I  forget  the  author's 
name,  but  I  remember  it  was  pubhshed  in  one  of 
MacmiUan's  series.  I  do  not  remember  any  par- 
ticular words  which  had  a  marked  or  sudden  effect 
upon  me  ;  but  while  I  was  reading  the  book  the 
knowledge  came  home  to  my  soul,  neither  gradually 
nor  yet  suddenly,  that  justification  is  not  by  our 
tears,  our  prayers,  or  our  work,  but  by  God.  I 
reaHsed  that  everything  was  done  and  given  by 
God,  and  that  a  man  has  nothing  to  do  but  bow  with 
gratitude  before  his  Maker,  and  accept  the  gift  of 
His  mercy  and  His  love.  And  when  I  was  made 
aware  of  this  truth,  for  it  seemed  to  come  from 
outside  me,  I  felt  conscious  of  some  mysterious 
relief.  It  was  as  if  a  weight  had  been  hfted  from 
my  shoulders,  as  if  a  load  I  had  long  been  carrying, 
and  had  even  got  used  to,  had  aU  of  a  sudden 
dropped  to  the  ground.  I  felt  that  aU  anxiety  was 
gone.  I  was  not  excited  or  carried  away,  but  I 
was  aware  of  a  sort  of  deep  joy." 

He  told  me  some  interesting  stories  of  his  work. 

"  The  first  experience  I  ever  had  of  Hstening  to  a 
man's  trouble  and  trpng  to  help  him,"  he  said, 
•'  occurred    very   soon   after   my   illumination.     A 


RANK    AND    FILE  249 

young  foreigner  arrived  at  one  of  the  evening 
meetings  of  the  Association.  He  appeared  to  be 
in  very  deep  trouble.  When  the  meeting  closed 
I  went  to  him  and  asked  if  I  could  be  of  any  help  to 
him.  He  told  me  that  he  was  a  Pole,  and  that  he 
had  been  in  Austraha,  where  he  had  been  converted  ; 
but  on  his  return  home  he  found  that  his  wife 
had  gone  away,  abandoned  the  home  ;  he  now  knew, 
he  told  me,  that  she  was  living  as  a  governess  in 
Berlin.  Then  he  said  to  me,  '  But  I  know  she  will 
come  back  to  me  ;  I  have  prayed,  and  God  will  hear 
my  prayer ;  I  am  sure  she  will  come  back.'  I 
became  friendly  with  him  ;  he  was  a  fine  fellow, 
and  a  real  Christian.  Some  months  after  his  wife 
came  back.  She  had  no  idea  of  the  change  in  his  life, 
and  had  returned  only  because  she  felt  a  vague 
conviction  that  it  was  her  duty.  Soon  after  her 
return,  however,  she  became  a  Christian.  Their 
home  is  happy  ;  he  simply  adores  her ;  and  you 
could  not  meet  nicer  people. 

"  That  was  my  first  experience  of  trying  to  help 
a  fellow-creature. 

"It  is  reaUy  wonderful  how  many  opportunities 
the  Association  puts  in  a  man's  way  for  doing 
simple  but  lasting  work.  I'm  sure  if  people  recog- 
nised how  it  adds  to  the  interest  of  life,  and  how  it 
satisfies  one's  own  mind  to  be  a  worker  for  the  help 
and  comfort  of  others,  we  should  have  a  very  much 
larger  membership  on  these  lines  alone.  There  must 
be  thousands  of  people  in  London  wanting  friend- 
ship, kindness,  and  advice  ;  and  of  course  there  are 
thousands  who  find  fife  dull  because  they  have  got 
no  enthusiasm  for  anything. 


250  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

"I  was  once  speaking  to  a  few  fellows  in  the 
Association  about  my  own  doubts  and  difficulties, 
teUing  them  how  I  had  come  to  find  light  and  peace 
of  soul.  Another  man,  not  in  the  group,  came  up  to 
me  afterwards,  told  me  that  he  had  overheard  what 
I  said,  and  added  that  he  had  a  friend  who  was 
then  in  much  the  same  difficulty  as  I  had  been  ;  and 
he  would  be  very  glad  if  I  would  meet  this  man 
and  speak  to  him.  Merely  from  that  little  incident 
I  made  a  great  friend,  and  was  able  to  help  a  fellow- 
creature  to  real  happiness. 

"  It's  very  helpful,  too,  to  get  into  relationship  with 
foreigners  ;  that  is  one  of  the  great  pulls  of  the 
Association.  We  meet  men  of  all  nations,  and 
learn  to  understand  their  point  of  view.  I  was  once 
struck  by  the  loneliness  of  a  young  Frenchman  who 
had  lately  joined,  and  seemed  to  be  rather  diffident 
about  making  friends.  I  chummed  up  with  him, 
suggested  that  we  should  go  for  a  country  walk 
together  on  the  following  Saturday  afternoon, 
and  found  that  he  was  not  only  a  very  nice  fellow 
indeed,  but  that  he  wanted  to  talk  about  reUgiont 
I  made  friends  with  him  simply  out  of  a  feeling  of 
Christian  fellowship,  and  with  no  thought  of  playing 
the  missionary  ;  but  it  turned  out  that  I  could  help 
him.  That  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  am  so  keen 
about  the  Association.  It  gives  the  ordinary  man, 
who  has  his  living  to  get,  intelligent  occupation 
for  his  leisure,  broadens  his  sympathies  by  acquaint- 
ance with  men  of  aU  nations,  and  gives  him  endless 
opportunities  for  deepenmg  his  own  spiritual  life 
by  simply  chatting  with  the  friends  he  makes  there. 
I  don't  believe  anything  helps  a  man  so  much  to 


RANK    AND    FILE  251 

realise  the  truth  of  the  Christian  hfe  as  talking 
things  over  with  other  people  of  his  own  age, 
and  trying  to  help  them  in  their  troubles." 

His  face  brightened,  and  he  beamed  at  me 
through  his  glasses  as  he  said,  "  I'm  going  out 
this  week  for  a  Saturday  ramble  with  two  young 
Japanese.  They're  very  clever  fellows,  and  very 
nice  ;  and  they  want  me  to  talk  to  them  about 
Christianity.  So  this  Saturday  we  shall  take  train, 
get  out  of  London,  and  then  walk  through  the 
fields,  talking  about  the  religion  of  Christ.  I'm 
looking  forward  to  it  with  great  interest.  You  can 
imagine  that  it  will  be  a  fine  opportunity.  I  believe 
Japan  is  more  interested  in  Christianity  than  any 
other  nation  in  the  East." 

From  these  brief  conversations  the  reader  will 
surely  gather  that  the  Young  Men's  Christian 
Association  provides  intelligent  and  thoughtful 
men  with  an  almost  unique  opportunity  for  the 
work  which  alone  can  render  life  beautiful  and 
strong  and  pure. 

In  sudden  and  too  transitory  moments  of  illumina- 
tion most  men  perceive  that  rehgion  is  fundamental 
to  the  security  of  civilisation  and  the  endurance  of 
the  moral  quahties  in  man.  It  may  be  but  the 
slightest  occurrence  that  provokes  this  realisation, 
that  flashes  for  a  moment  before  the  apprehension 
this  tremendous  and  far-reaching  truth ;  such  a 
little  thing  as  a  party  of  hoarse-voiced  and  guffawing 
hoohgans  bawling  a  banal  song  through  the  midnight 
streets,  careless  if  they  wake  the  feverish  sick  or 
disturb  the  pillow  of  the  dying  ;   such  a  little  thing 


252  THE  ORDINARY  MAN 

as  a  newspaper  placard  screaming  from  one  end  of 
the  metropolis  of  a  great  empire  to  the  other 
that  some  chorus-girl  is  married,  some  negro  prize- 
fighter arrived  in  England,  or  the  results  of  a  horse 
race  ;  such  a  Httle  thing  as  a  play  produced  in  a 
London  theatre  in  which  indelicacies  which  would 
offend  almost  every  home  in  the  land  are  the  cause 
of  dehghted  laughter  in  men  and  women  of  all 
classes  night  after  night  for  a  long  season  ;  such 
a  Httle  thing  as  one  young  drunken  woman  stagger- 
ing through  the  streets  to  her  children,  hungry  and 
afraid  in  their  slum  home  as  the  young  of  no  other 
species  in  creation  are  hungry  and  afraid  ;  such  a 
little  thing  as  the  violence,  which  actively  denies 
God  and  His  Christ,  practised  by  a  mob  of  strikers 
or  a  mob  of  pohtical  women  in  moments  of  hateful 
anarchy  ;  such  a  httle  thing  as  the  success  and 
popularity  of  newspapers  which  make  their  appeal 
to  the  basest  and  most  sordid  instincts  of  human 
nature  ;  such  a  httle  thing  as  the  unchallenged 
presence  in  the  House  of  Commons  and  the  House 
of  Lords  of  men  whose  names  are  a  byword  for 
iniquity  and  crime  ;  such  a  httle  thing  as  the 
sudden  feeling,  due  perhaps  to  some  quite  trivial 
event,  that  a  really  vital  pubHc  opinion  on  all 
great  moral  issues  has  ceased  to  exist  throughout 
the  length  and  breadth  of  a  materialistic  England. 

But  the  reahsation  that  rehgion  is  fundamental 
both  to  national  greatness  and  to  the  moral 
progress  of  human  nature  should  be  a  permanent 
conviction  of  the  mind,  the  deepest  and  the  most 
earnest — a  conviction  entirely  independent  of  chance 
occurrence  for  its  emphasis.     From  the  beginning 


RANK    AND    FILE  253 

of  time  there  have  been  no  morals  without  religion  ; 
and  every  period  in  the  world's  history  of  a  great 
moral  decadence,  and  the  downfall  of  mighty 
empires,  has  been  preceded  by  the  triumphs  of 
scepticism.  Never  has  a  god  fallen,  perhaps,  without 
crushing  some  of  his  devotees.  Certainly  never  has 
nation,  race,  or  tribe  produced  a  code  of  ethics  with- 
out the  sanction  of  some  faith  in  powers  greater 
than  mankind.  It  is  as  huge  a  folly  to  think  that 
grammar  preceded  language  as  to  imagine  that 
there  was  morality  before  there  was  reHgion. 

Does  ever  any  thoughtful  man  walk  through  the 
streets  of  London,  or  Manchester,  or  Liverpool,  or 
Glasgow,  or  Dublin,  without  feeling  in  his  soul  that 
the  denial  of  God — which  means  among  other  things 
the  denial  of  those  laws  of  God  which  are  in  operation 
for  our  welfare — ^is  fatal  to  human  progress  ?  Not 
merely  the  presence  of  striking  and  abominable 
things  forces  this  conviction  upon  the  soul — 
such  things  as  public-houses  packed  with  women, 
or  the  frightful  juxtaposition  of  enormous  luxury 
and  appalling  beggary — but  the  look  in  the  faces  of 
the  ordinary  people,  rich  or  poor,  who  pass  one  in  the 
streets.  How  much  coldness,  hardness,  aloofness, 
and  self-satisfaction  in  the  faces  of  the  well-to-do ; 
how  Httle  benevolence,  modesty,  sweetness,  and 
refinement  of  spirit ! — and  in  the  faces  of  the 
struggling  workers,  how  much  savagery,  brutality, 
bitterness,  and  sorrow  dumb  as  death  but  watchful 
as  hate  ! 

Is  it  not  as  if  one  walked  among  a  people  who 
had  a  loathing  for  life  and  a  contempt  for 
beauty,  to  whom  the  glory  of  aspiration  had  never 


254  THE   ORDINARY   MAN 

once  come,  nor  the  sanctifying  humility  which 
inspires  the  soul  of  those  who  reaUse  their  depend- 
ence on  God  ?  One  feels  that  the  world  is  peopled 
by  a  disillusioned  and  disenchanted  humanity.  It  is 
as  if  aU  joy  and  aU  tragedy  were  crushed  out  of 
existence  by  a  universal  weariness  and  fatigue. 
Here  and  there  one  hears  laughter — it  is  from  a 
public-house.  Here  and  there  one  sees  vivacity — 
it  is  in  the  face  of  a  courtesan.  But  for  the  most 
part  the  crowds  go  by,  grey,  silent,  and  oppressed. 
Stand  at  the  corner  of  London  Bridge  or  Black- 
friars  Bridge,  or  in  the  streets  of  Oldham,  when  the 
workers  are  going  home.  Look  in  their  faces.  It  is 
not  poverty  or  coarseness  or  vulgarity  or  wickedness 
which  appals  you  :  but  hardness  and  absence  of  joy. 
Can  a  people  so  hard  and  dispirited,  so  joyless 
and  divided,  so  Uttle  conscious  either  of  immortality 
or  brotherhood,  support  the  strain  of  its  own  godless 
materiahsm  ?  can  they  even  work  out  those  high  and 
splendid  destinies  of  empire  for  which  enthusiasm 
and  faith  are  the  first  essentials  ? 

It  is  my  hope,  as  I  bring  this  book  to  an  end, 
that  those  of  my  readers  who  are  either  in  despair 
about  the  future,  or  careless  as  to  the  fate  of 
humanity,  may  realise  that  there  exists  among  the 
multitudes  of  their  feUow-creatures  a  great  hope 
and  a  great  call  to  personal  service  in  that  "  pressure 
of  the  soul  "  which  is  one  of  the  strange  signs  of 
this  troubled  age,  and  to  guide  which  is  one  of  the 
first  duties  of  those  who  very  reaUy  and  very 
earnestly  have  their  affiance  in  Christ.  Everywhere, 
when  we  penetrate  beneath  the  surface  of  society, 
there  is  this  disquiet  of   the  spirit,  this  pressure  of 


RANK    AND    FILE  256 

the  soul,  this  dissatisfaction  with  earthly  things,  this 
hunger  after  satisfaction  and  peace.  The  ordinary 
man  is  conscious,  dimly  enough  it  may  be,  of  the 
extraordinary  thing.  No  man  alone  with  his  inward 
being  is  really  an  atheist,  save  those  who  are  really 
devils.  The  whole  nation,  one  may  say,  is  tormented 
by  a  division  of  the  soul  which  lacks  the  decisive 
choice.  Not  yet  do  they  give  themselves  to  God  ; 
but  not  yet,  God  be  thanked,  do  they  give  them- 
selves wholly  to  the  devil.  One  way  or  the  other 
will  the  choice  be  made.  Democracy  growing 
articulate,  aristocracy  growing  afraid,  will  soon 
end  the  pestering  unrest  which  disturbs  their 
happiness  by  deciding  either  for  God  or  the  devil. 

To  make  that  decision  ring  true  for  God  is  the 
work  of  the  present  time.  And  that  there  is  strong 
ground  for  hope  that  England  will  decide  for  God, 
no  man  who  is  acquainted  with  the  clamour  of  the 
soul  of  even  the  most  ordinary  and  vulgar  for 
deeper  satisfaction,  and  with  the  work  of  those 
who  labour  for  religion  in  every  quarter  of  the  land, 
can  really  doubt. 

Take  but  one  case.  Is  it  not  manifest,  even 
from  what  has  been  told  in  this  book,  that  if 
the  merchants  and  the  civic  powers  of  England 
devoted  themselves,  as  men  of  their  own  blood  have 
done  in  America,  to  the  development  of  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association  throughout  the  country, 
we  should  possess  in  less  than  a  generation  such  a 
manhood  in  our  cities  as  would  be  a  strength  to  the 
empire,  a  glory  to  the  race,  and  a  power  for  the 
things  of  God  ?  Here  is,  at  our  hand,  this  As- 
sociation— long-founded    and   already    flourishing — 


256  THE   ORDINARY  MAN 

which  could  literally  save  to  manhood  and  reUgion 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  young  men  now  drifting 
into  indifference  and  decadence,  if  the  reUgious 
conscience  of  England  reahsed  the  opportunity 
and  gave  itself  with  enthusiasm  to  the  work. 

And  all  over  England  there  are  good  men  in  equally 
worthy  societies  waiting  to  do  a  tremendous  work 
for  humanity  in  the  name  of  God,  but  who  are 
paralysed  by  want  of  sympathy  and  enthusiasm 
from  the  whole  nation.  And  this  lack  of  sympathy 
and  this  want  of  enthusiasm  are  due  to  the  pessimism 
that  religion  is  exhausted  and  the  miracle  exposed. 
Progress  has  been  handed  over  to  the  pohticians. 
Enlightenment  is  looked  for  only  from  the  men  of 
science.  As  if  poUtics  or  science  could  touch  the 
soul  of  humanity  !  And  in  the  meantime,  all  round 
us  and  about  us,  through  the  humble  labours  of 
obscure  but  holy  men  and  women,  Christ  is  feeding 
the  hungry,  clothing  the  naked,  healing  the  sick, 
casting  out  devils,  and  raising  the  dead. 

If  England,  as  some  think,  is  now  faUing  through 
materialism  into  anarchy  and  ruin,  may  one  not 
suppose  that  there  is  a  sigh  in  heaven,  and  that 
once  more  those  words  are  breathed  with  sorrowful 
compassion,  "  Ye  will  not  come  to  Me,  that  ye  might 
have  life  "  ? 

Before  England  abandons  herself  to  the  poHtician, 
it  would  be  weU  for  her  once  more  to  make  her 
appeal,  earnestly  and  universally,  to  the  Christ 
Who  called  Himself  Son  of  God  and  Light  of  the 
World. 


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